UNIT,  Of  CAUF.  LIBRARY.  MW  ANGEUB* 


'WHAT  MUST  HE  THINK  OF  HKK?" 

frontispiece.    Pa  ye  214. 


THE  ROUND-UP 


A  Romance  of  Arizona 


NOVELIZED    FROM    EDMUND    DAY'S    MELODRAMA 


BY 

JOHN  MURRAY  and  MILLS  MILLER 


Illustrations  from  Scenes  in  the  Play 


G.    W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
O.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

The  Round-up  Issued  March,  190$ 


CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 

IN  THE  ORDER  IN  WHICH  THEY  APPEAR. 


Dick  Lane,  a  prospector. 

Buck  McKee,  a  desperado. 

"Colonel"  Jim  Allen,  a  ranchman. 

Josephine  Allen,  Jim's  wife. 

Echo  Allen,  their  daughter. 

Polly  Hope,  a  "poor  relation"  of  the  Aliens. 

Bud  Lane,  a  horse-wrangler ;  brother  of  Dick  Lane. 

Jack  Payson,  owner  of  Sweetwater  Ranch. 

"Slim"  Hoover,  sheriff  of  Pinal  County. 

"Ole  Man"  Terrill,  express-agent  at  Florence  station. 

Sage-brush  Charley,  Payson's  foreman. 

Fresno          1 

Show  Low    V  cow-punchers  of  the  Sweetwater  outfit. 

Parenthesis  ; 

The  Reverend  Samuel  Price,  a  "Sky  Pilot." 

Colonel  Hardie,  in  command   of  Troop  F,  at  Fort 

Grant. 

Peruna,  cow-puncher  of  the  Lazy  K  outfit. 
Timber  Wiggins,  deputy  sheriff  of  Pinal  County. 


2131375 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


FAOB 


J.  The  Cactus  Cross     .....        9 

II.  The  Heart  of  a  Girl  .....      33 

III.  A  Woman's  Loyalty  52 

IV.  The  Hold-up     ......      64 

V.  Hoover  Bows  to  Hymen  ....      80 

VI.  A  Tangled  Web       .....     104 

VII.  Josephine  Opens  the  Sluices     .        .        .120 

VIII.  The  Sky  Pilot  ....  .133 

IX.  What  God  Hath  Joined  Together     .        .     145 

X.  The  Piano         ......     162 

XI.  Accusation  and  Confession       .        .        .199 

XII.  The  Land  of  Dead  Things         .        .        .222 

XIII.  The  Atonement        .        .        .        .        .    238 

XIV.  The  Round-up          .....     264 

XV.  Peruna  Pulls  His  Freight  .        .        .        .289 

XVI.  Death  of  McKee,  Disappointed  Desperado    304 

XVII.  A  New  Deal     ......    3>7 

XVIII.  Jack!        .......    339 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"What  must  he  think  of  her  ?" Frontispiece  914 

"Nobody  loves  a  fat  man" 48 

Slowly  he  led  him  to  the  door  and  motioned  kim  to  listen  .  .  .159 

Jack  spread  out  his  arms  and  calmly  replied :  "I'm  ready"  ...  748 
"Ma'am,  I'm  plumb  sorry.  My  mother  was  a  Cherokee  squaw,  but 

I'm  white  in  some  spots 302 

'•'Let  him  alone,  Miss  Polly.  He's  only  four-flushin',  an'  I  ain't  gun 

shy" 33° 


THE   ROUND-UP. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Cactus  Cross. 

DOWN  an  old  trail  in  the  Ghost  Range  in  north- 
western Mexico,  just  across  the  Arizona  bor- 
der, a  mounted  prospector  wound  his  way,  his  horse 
carefully  picking  its  steps  among  the  broken  granite 
blocks  which  had  tumbled  upon  the  ancient  path  from 
the  mountain  wall  above.  A  burro  followed,  laden 
heavily  with  pack,  bed-roll,  pick,  frying-pan,  and  bat- 
tered coffee-pot,  yet  stepping  along  sure-footedly  as  the 
mountain-sheep  that  first  formed  the  trail  ages  ago, 
and  whose  petrified  hoof -prints  still  remain  to  afford 
footing  for  the  scarcely  larger  hoofs  of  the  pack- 
animal. 

An  awful  stillness  hung  over  the  scene,  that  was 
broken  only  by  the  click  of  hoofs  of  horse  and  burro 
upon  the  rocks,  and  the  clatter  of  the  loose  stones  they 

9 


io  TheRound-Up 

dislodged  that  rolled  and  skipped  down  the  mountain- 
side. Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  and  the  sun 
blazed  down  from  the  zenith  with  such  fierce  and  di- 
rect radiation  that  the  wayfarer  needed  not  to  observe 
the  shadows  to  note  its  exact  position  in  the  heavens. 
Singly  among  the  broken  blocks,  and  in  banks  along 
the  ledges,  the  cactus  had  burst  under  the  heat,  as  it 
were,  into  the  spontaneous  combustion  of  flowery 
flame.  To  the  traveler  passing  beside  them  their  red 
blooms  blazed  with  the  irritating  superfluity  of  a  torch- 
light procession  at  noonday. 

The  trail  leads  down  to  a  flat  ledge  which  overlooks 
the  desert,  and  which  is  the  observatory  whither  count- 
less generations  of  mountain-sheep  have  been  wont  to 
resort  to  survey  the  strange  world  beneath  them — with 
what  purpose  and  what  feelings,  it  remains  for  some 
imaginative  writer  of  animal-stories  to  inform  us. 
From  the  ledge  to  the  valley  below  the  trail  is  free 
from  obstructions,  and  broader,  more  beaten,  and  less 
devious  than  above,  indicating  that  it  has  been  formed 
by  the  generations  of  men  toiling  up  from  the  valley  to 
the  natural  watch-tower  on  the  heights. 

Reaching  the  ledge,  the  prospector  found  that  what 
seemed  from  the  angle  above  to  be  an  irregular  pile 


The    Round-Up  " 

of  large  boulders  was  an  artificial  fortification,  the 
highest  wall  being  toward  the  mountains.  Entering 
the  enclosure  the  prospector  dismounted,  relieved  his 
horse  of  its  saddle  and  his  burro  of  its  pack,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  prepare  his  midday  meal.  Looking  for  the 
best  place  where  he  might  light  a  fire,  he  observed,  in 
the  most  protected  corner,  a  flat  stone,  marked  by  fire, 
and  near  it,  in  the  rocky  ground,  a  pot-hole,  evidently 
formed  for  grinding  maize.  The  ashes  of  ancient  fires 
were  scattered  about,  and  in  cleaning  them  off  his 
new-found  hearth  the  man  discovered  a  potsherd,  ap- 
parently of  a  native  olla  or  water-jar,  and  a  chipped 
fragment  of  flint,  too  small  to  indicate  whether  it 
had  formed  part  of  an  Indian  arrowhead  or  had 
dropped  from  an  old  flintlock  musket. 

"Lucky  strike!"  observed  the  prospector.  "I  was 
down  to  my  last  match."  And,  gathering  some  mes- 
quit  brush  for  fuel,  and  rubbing  a  dead  branch  into 
tinder,  he  drew  out  a  knife  and,  rapidly  and  repeatedly 
striking  the  back  of  its  blade  with  the  flint,  produced 
a  stream  of  sparks,  which  fell  on  the  tinder.  Blowing 
the  while,  he  started  a  flame.  When  the  fire  was  ready 
the  man  shook  his  canteen.  "Precious  little  drink  left," 
he  said.  "I  wish  that  potsherd  carried  water  as  the 


u  The   Round-Up 

flint-chip  does  fire.  However,  there's  lots  of  cactus 
around  here,  and  they're  natural  water-jars.  My  knife 
may  get  me  a  drink  out  of  the  desert's  thorns,  as  well 
as  kindle  a  fire  from  its  stones.  And  right  here's  my 
watermelon,  the  bisnaga,  the  first  one  I've  found  in 
months,"  he  exclaimed,  going  over  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  above  the  level  of  which  peered  the  fat  head  of 
a  cactus  covered  with  spines  that  were  barbed  like  a 
fish-hook.  Its  short  tap-root  was  fixed  in  a  crevice  a 
few  feet  below  the  parapet.  Lying  on  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  the  man  sliced  off  the  top  of  the  cactus,  and 
began  jabbing  into  its  interior,  breaking  down  the 
fibrous  walls  of  the  water-cells,  of  which  the  top-heavy 
plant  is  almost  entirely  composed.  In  a  few  moments 
he  arose. 

"Now  I  can  empty  my  canteen  in  the  coffee-pot,  sure 
of  a  fresh  supply  of  water  by  the  time  I  am  ready  to 
mosey  along." 

He  filled  the  pot,  set  it  on  the  fire,  and  then  pressed 
the  uncorked  and  empty  canteen  down  into  the  macer- 
ated interior  of  the  bisnaga. 

While  his  coffee  was  boiling,  the  prospector  con- 
tinued his  examination  of  the  fortification,  beginning, 
in  the  manner  of  his  kind,  with  the  more  minute 


TheRound-Up  13 

"signs,"  and  ending  with  what,  to  a  tourist,  would  have 
been  the  first  and  only  subject  of  observation — the 
view.  On  the  inner  side  of  the  large  boulder  in  the 
wall  he  discerned  the  faint  outline  of  a  cross,  painted 
with  red  ochre. 

Scraping  with  his  pick  beneath  the  rock,  to  see  if  the 
emblem  was  the  sign  of  hidden  treasure  or  relic,  he 
unearthed  a  rattlesnake.  Before  it  could  strike,  with  a 
quick  fling  of  his  tool  he  sent  the  reptile  whirling 
high  in  the  air  toward  the  precipice.  But  from  the 
clump  of  cactus  growth  along  the  parapet  arose  a 
sahuaro,  with  branching  arms,  and  against  this  the 
snake  was  flung.  Wrapped  around  the  thorny  top  by 
the  momentum  of  the  cast,  it  hung,  hissing  and  rat- 
tling with  pain  and  hatred. 

The  prospector  looked  up  at  the  impaled  rattlesnake 
with  a  smile.  Reminiscences  of  Sunday-school  flashed 
across  his  mind. 

"Gee,  I'm  a  regular  Moses,"  he  ejaculated.  "First  I 
bring  water  from  the  face  of  the  rock,  and  then  I  lift 
up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness.  The  year  I've  spent 
in  the  mountains  and  desert  seem  like  forty  to  me,  and 
now,  at  last,  I  have  a  sight  of  the  Promised  Land. 
God,  what  a  magnificent  view  1" 


14  The   Round-Up 

a , 

Dropping  his  pick,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  with  in- 
stinctive symbolization  of  the  wjde  prospect,  and  ex- 
pression of  an  exile's  yearning  for  his  native  land. 

"Over  there  is  God's  country,  sure  enough,"  he  con- 
tinued, giving  the  trite  phrase  a  reverential  tone,  which 
he  had  not  used  in  his  first  expression  of  the  name  of 
Deity.  "Thank  Him,  the  parallel  with  old  Moses  stops 
right  here.  Many  a  time  I  thought  I  would  never  get 
out  of  the  mountains  alive,  and  that  my  grave  would 
be  unmarked  by  so  much  as  a  boulder  with  a  red  cross 
upon  it.  But  now,  before  night,  I'll  be  back  in  the 
States,  and  in  three  more  days  at  home  on  the  old 
ranch.  I  promised  to  return  in  a  year,  and  I'll  make 
good  to  the  hour.  I  sure  did  hate  to  leave  that  strike, 
though,  after  all  the  hard  luck  I  had  been  having. 
Sixty  dollars  a  day,  and  growing  richer.  But  the  last 
horn  was  blowing.  No  tobacco,  six  matches,  and  noth- 
ing left  of  the  bacon  but  rinds.  Well,  the  gold  is  there, 
and  the  claim'll  bring  whatever  I  choose  to  ask  for  it. 
And  Echo  shall  have  a  home  as  good  as  Allen  Ha- 
cienda, and  a  ranch  as  fine  as  Bar  One — yes,  by  God, 
it'll  be  Bar  None,  my  ranch !" 

Out  of  the  sea  of  molten  air  that  stretched  before 
him,  that  nebulous  chaos  of  quivering  bars  and  belts 


The   Round-Up  15 

of  heated  atmosphere  which  remains  above  the  desert 
as  a  memorial  of  the  first  stage  of  the  entire  planet's 
existence,  the  imagination  of  the  prospector  created  a 
paradise  of  his  own.  There  took  shape  before  his  eyes 
a  Mexican  hacienda,  larger  and  more  beautiful  even 
than  that  of  Echo's  father,  the  beau-ideal  of  a  home  to 
his  limited  fancy.  And  on  the  piazza  in  front,  covered 
with  flowering  vines,  there  stood  awaiting  him  the 
slender  figure  of  a  woman,  with  outstretched  arms  and 
dark  eyes,  tender  with  yearning  love. 

"Echo — Echo  Allen!"  he  murmured,  fondly  repeat- 
ing the  name.  "No,  not  Echo  Allen,  but  Echo  Lane, 
for  Dick  Lane  has  redeemed  his  promise,  and  returns 
to  claim  you  as  his  own." 

As  he  gazed  upon  the  shimmering  heat  waves  which 
distorted  and  displaced  the  objects  within  and  beneath 
them,  a  group  of  horsemen  suddenly  appeared  to  him 
in  the  distance,  and  as  suddenly  vanished  in  thin  air. 

"Rurales!"  ejaculated  Lane.  "I  wonder  if  they  are 
chasing  Apaches?  That  infernal  mirage  gives  you  no 
idea  of  distance  or  direction.  If  the  red  devils  have 
got  away  from  Crook  and  slipped  by  these  Greaser 
rangers  over  the  border,  they'll  sure  be  making 
straight  for  the  Ghost  Range,  and  by  this  very  trail. 


i6  TheRound-Up 

If  so,  I'm  at  the  best  place  on  it  to  meet  them,  and  here 
I  stay  till  the  coast  is  clear."  Turning  to  the  red  cross 
on  the  rock,  he  reflected:  "Perhaps,  after  all,  it's  a 
case  of  'Nebo's  lonely  mountain.' ' 

Lane  had  hardly  reached  this  conclusion  before  he 
found  it  justified  by  the  sight  of  a  mounted  Apache 
in  the  regalia  of  war  emerging  from  a  hidden  dip  in 
the  trail  below  the  fortification.  Lane  dropped  behind 
the  parapet,  evidently  before  he  was  observed,  as  the 
steadily  increasing  number  and  loudness  of  the  hoof- 
beats  on  the  rocky  trail  indicated  to  the  listener. 

Crawling  back  to  his  horse  and  burro,  he  made  them 
lie  down  against  the  upper  wall,  and  picketed  them 
with  short  lengths  of  rope  to  the  ground,  for  he  fore- 
saw that  danger  could  come  only  from  the  mountain- 
side. Taking  his  Winchester,  he  returned  to  the  para- 
pet, and,  half-seated,  half -reclining  behind  it,  opened 
fire  on  the  unsuspecting  Apaches.  The  leader,  shot 
through  the  head,  fell  from  his  horse,  which  reared 
and  backed  wildly  down  the  trail.  Other  bullets  must 
have  found  their  billets  also,  but,  because  of  the  con- 
fusion which  ensued  among  the  Indians,  the  prospector 
was  unable  to  tell  how  many  of  them  he  had  put  out 
of  action.  In  a  flash  every  rider  had  leaped  off  his 


The   Round-Up  *7 

horse,  and,  protecting  himself  by  its  body,  was  scram- 
bling with  his  mount  to  the  protecting  declivity  in  the 
rear.  The  prospector  was  sorely  tempted  to  pump  his 
cartridges  into  the  group  as  it  poured  back  over  the 
rim  of  the  hollow,  but  he  desisted  from  the  useless 
slaughter  of  horses  alone,  knowing  that  he  could  be 
attacked  only  on  foot,  and  that  every  one  of  his  slender 
store  of  cartridges  must  find  a  human  mark  if  he  would 
return  to  the  States  alive.  "They've  got  to  put  me  out 
of  business  before  they  can  go  on,"  he  ruminated.  "An 
Apache  is  a  good  deal  of  a  coward  when  he's  fighting  - 
for  pleasure,  but  just  corner  him,  and,  great  snakes 
and  spittin'  wildcats,  what  a  game  he  does  put  up!  I 
must  save  my  cartridges;  for  one  thing's  sure,  they 
won't  waste  any  of  theirs.  They're  not  as  good  shots 
as  white  men,  for  ammunition  is  too  scarce  with  them 
for  use  in  gun  practise;  so  they  won't  fire  till  they've 
got  me  dead  to  rights.  Let  me  see;  there's  about  a 
dozen  left  in  the  party,  and  I  have  fifteen  cartridges — 
that's  three  in  reserve  for  my  own  outfit,  if  some  of 
the  others  fail  to  get  their  men.  Those  red  devils  en- 
joy skinning  an  animal  alive  as  much  as  torturing  a 
man,  and  you  can  bet  they  won't  save  me  any  bullets 
by  shooting  Nance  and  Jinny." 


i*  The    Round-Up 

Reasoning  that  the  Indians  would  not  dare  to  attack 
by  way  of  the  open  trail  in  front,  and  that  it  would 
take  some  time  for  them  to  make  the  detour  necessary 
to  approach  him  from  above,  since'they  would  have  to 
leave  their  ponies  below  and  climb  on  hands  and  knees 
over  jutting  ledges  and  around  broken  granite  blocks, 
Lane  coolly  proceeded  to  drink  his  coffee,  and  eat  his 
lunch  of  hard  bread  and  cold  bacon-rind.  After  he 
had  finished,  he  gave  a  lump  of  sugar  to  each  of  his 
animals,  and  pressed  his  cheek  with  an  affectionate  hug 
against  the  side  of  his  horse's  head. 

"Old  girl,"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry  we  can't  take  a 
parting  drink,  for  I'm  afraid  neither  of  us  will  reach 
our  next  water-hole.  But  you  can  count  on  me  that 
the  red  devils  won't  get  you." 

Then,  going  to  his  pack,  he  undid  it,  and  took  out  a 
double  handful  of  yellow  nuggets  and  a  number  of 
canvas  bags.  These  he  deposited  in  the  pot-hole,  and, 
prying  up  the  flat  stone  of  the  fireplace,  laid  it  over 
them,  and  covered  the  stone  with  embers. 

"It's  a  ten  to  one  shot  that  they  finish  me,"  he  re- 
flected ;  "but  the  wages  I've  paid  for  by  a  year  of  hard 
work  and  absence  from  her  side,  stay  just  as  near  Echo 
Alien  as  I  can  bring  them  alive,  and,  if  there's  any 


TheRound-Up  X9 

truth  in  what  they  say  about  spirits  disclosing  in 
dreams  the  place  of  buried  treasure,  with  the  chance 
of  my  getting  them  to  her  after  I  am  dead." 

Taking  the  useless  boulders  from  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  but  carefully,  so  as  not  to  expose  himself  to  the 
fire  of  the  Apaches,  he  piled  them  on  top  of  the  upper 
wall  in  such  a  fashion  as  to  form  little  turrets.  He 
left  an  opening  in  each,  through  which  he  could  ob- 
serve, in  turn,  each  point  of  the  compass  whence  dan- 
ger might  be  expected,  and  could  fire  his  Winchester 
without  exposing  himself.  Then  he  began  going  from 
post  to  post  on  a  continuous  round  of  self-imposed  sen- 
tinel duty.  "If  I  could  only  climb  the  sahuaro,"  he 
thought,  "and  fly  my  red  shirt  as  a  flag,  to  let  the 
Rurales  know  I've  flanked  the  enemy,  it  might  hurry 
them  along  in  time  to  put  a  crimp  in  these  devils  be- 
fore they  get  me.  But  it'll  have  to  be  'Hold  the  Fort' 
without  any  'Oh,  Say  Can  You  See?'  business.  Any- 
how, I'm  flying  the  rattlesnake  flag  of  Bunker  Hill, 
'Don't  Tread  on  Me!'  Whether  the  Rurales  see  it  or 
not,  I've  saved  their  hides.  If  the  Apaches  had  got  to 
this  fort  first,  gee,  how  they  would  have  crumpled  up 
the  Greasers  as  they  came  along  the  trail !" 


20  The   Round-Up 

Rendered  thirsty  by  his  exertions,  Lane  remembered 
the  canteen  in  the  bisnaga,  which  he  had  forgotten 
among  his  other  preparations  for  defense.  He  cau- 
tiously reached  his  hand  over  the  ledge,  and  secured 
the  precious  vessel,  but,  as  he  was  withdrawing  it,  ping! 
came  a  bullet  through  the  canteen,  knocking  it  out  of 
his  hand.  As  it  fell  clattering  down  the  side  of  the 
ledge,  he  groaned :  "Damned  good  shooting !  They've 
probably  left  their  best  marksman  below,  with  the 
ponies.  No  hope  for  escape  on  that  side.  Well,  there's 
some  consolation  in  the  thought  that  they'll  undoubted- 
ly finish  me  before  I  get  too  damned  thirsty.  Glad  it 
wasn't  my  hand." 

Although  the  period  he  spent  waiting  for  the  attack 
was  less  than  an  hour  by  his  watch,  it  seemed  to  Lane 
so  long  that  he  had  hopes  that  the  Rurales  would  ap- 
pear in  time  to  rescue  him.  His  spirits  rose  with  the 
prospect.  Looking  about  him  at  the  walls,  the  fire- 
place, and  the  red  cross,  he  reflected :  "I  am  not  the 
first  man,  or  even  the  first  white  man,  that  has  with- 
stood an  attack  in  this  place."  In  imagination  he  con- 
structed the  history  of  the  fort.  Here,  in  ages  remote, 
a  tribe  of  Indians,  defeated  and  driven  to  the  moun- 
tains, had  constructed  an  outpost  against  their  enemies 


The  Round-Up  21 

of  the  plain,  but  these  had  captured  the  stronghold,  and 
fortified  it  against  its  former  occupants.  Later,  a  band 
of  Spanish  gold-seekers  had  made  a  stand  here  against 
natives  whom  they  had  roused  against  them  by  oppres- 
sion. Or,  perhaps,  as  indicated  by  the  cross,  it  had  af- 
forded refuge  to  the  Mission  Fathers,  those  heroic 
souls  who  had  faced  the  horrors  of  the  infernolike  des- 
ert in  their  saintly  efforts  to  convert  its  fiendish  inhab- 
itants. 

With  the  symbol  of  Christianity  in  his  mind,  Lane 
turned  toward  the  giant  cactus,  which  he  had  hereto- 
fore regarded  chiefly  in  the  aspect  of  a  flagpole,  and 
saw  in  its  columnar  trunk  and  opposing  branches  a  dis- 
tinct resemblance  to  a  cross.  The  plant  was  dead,  and 
dry  as  punk.  Suddenly  there  flashed  into  his  mind  a 
hideous  suggestion.  More  cruel  than  even  the  Romans, 
the  inventors  of  crucifixion,  the  Apaches  are  wont  to 
bind  their  captives  to  these  dead  cacti,  which  supply  at 
once  scourging  thorns,  binding  stake,  and  consuming 
fuel,  and,  kindling  a  fire  at  the  top,  leave  it  to  burn 
slowly  down  to  the  victim,  and,  long  before  it  des- 
patches him,  to  twist  his  body  and  limbs  into  what 
appear  to  the  Apache  sense  of  humor  to  be  exquisitely 
ludicrous  contortions. 


22  The    Round-Up 

With  his  mind  occupied  by  these  horrible  apprehen- 
sions, Lane  looked  at  the  rattlesnake  upon  the  sahuaro, 
whose  struggles  by  this  time  had  diminished  to  a  feeble 
movement  of  the  tail. 

"Poor  old  rattler,"  he  thought.  "I  wish  I  could 
spare  a  cartridge  to  put  you  out  of  your  misery." 

At  length,  as  Lane  peered  up  the  mountainside,  he 
saw  a  bush  on  a  ledge  a  little  to  the  left  of  the 
trail  quiver,  as  if  stirred  by  a  passing  breath  of  wind. 
He  aimed  his  Winchester  through  a  crack  in  the  wall 
at  the  spot,  and  when  a  moment  later  an  Apache  rose 
up  from  the  ground  and  leaped  toward  the  shelter  of 
a  rock  below,  Lane  fired,  and  the  savage  fell  crumpling. 
Like  an  echo  of  the  explosion  a  rifle  on  the  right  spoke, 
and  a  bullet  struck  the  rock  by  Lane's  head.  He 
marked  the  spot  whence  the  shot  came,  and  quickly 
ran  to  another  part  of  the  wall.  From  here  he  saw 
the  edge  of  an  Indian's  thigh  exposed  by  the  side  of 
the  boulder  he  had  noted.  Crack!  went  Lane's  Win- 
chester ;  the  leg  was  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  at  the 
same  moment  a  head  appeared  on  the  other  side  of 
the  rock,  as  if  the  Indian  had  stretched  himself  out 
involuntarily.  Crack!  again,  and  Lane  had  got  his 
man. 


The    Round- Up  23 

"Two  shots  to  an  Indian  is  expensive,"  thought  the 
prospector,  "otherwise  this  game  of  tip-jack  would  be 
very  interesting." 

There  was  a  cry  in  the  Apache  tongue,  and  suddenly 
nine  half-naked  bodies  arose  from  behind  rocks  and 
bushes  extending  in  an  irregular  crescent  above  the 
fort,  and  rushed  forward  ten,  fifteen,  and  even  twenty, 
yards  to  the  next  cover.  Lane  did  not  count  number 
or  distance  at  the  time,  but  he  figured  these  out  in  his 
next  period  of  waiting  from  the  photograph  flashed 
on  his  subconscious  mind.  At  the  time  of  the  rush  he 
was  otherwise  occupied.  Crack!  crack!  and  two  of 
the  Indians  fell  dead  in  mid-career.  Crack!  and  a 
third  crawled,  wounded,  to  the  cover  he  had  almost 
safely  attained.  Crack!  and  an  eagle- feather  in  the 
head  of  the  fourth  Indian  shot  at  was  cut  off  at  the 
stem,  and  fell  forward  on  the  rock  behind  which  its 
wearer  had  dropped  just  in  time  to  save  his  life.  There 
was  an  answering  volley  from  the  rifles  of  the  remain- 
ing Apaches,  which  was  directed  against  the  lookout 
of  loose  stones  from  which  the  prospector's  fire  had 
come.  One  of  the  bullets  penetrated  the  opening  and 
plowed  a  furrow  through  Lane's  scalp,  toppling  him  to 
his  knees.  He  scrambled  quickly  to  his  feet,  and,  hasti- 


24  The   Round-Up 

ly  pressing  his  long  hair  back  from  his  forehead,  to 
stanch  the  bleeding  wound,  sought  the  protection  of 
the  middle  lookout.  He  congratulated  himself. 

"Lucky  for  me  they  didn't  follow  the  first  rush  im- 
mediately with  a  second.  Now  I  know  to  wait  for 
their  signal.  Six,  and  possibly  seven  of  them,  are  left, 
and  they  will  storm  my  works  in  two  more  attempts. 
Here  they  come  1" 

The  call  again  sounded.  Six  Apaches  leaped  for- 
ward, and  from  the  rock  that  concealed  the  wounded 
warrior,  a  shot  rang  out  in  advance  of  the  first  dis- 
charge from  Lane's  Winchester.  The  Indian's  bullet 
scored  the  top  of  the  turret,  and  filled  the  eyes  of  the 
man  behind  it  with  powdered  stone.  The  prospector, 
already  dazed  by  his  wound,  fired  wildly,  and  missed 
his  mark.  Quickly  recovering  himself,  he  fired  again 
and  again,  severely  wounding  two  Apaches.  These 
lay  clawing  the  ground  within  twenty  yards  of  the  wall. 
The  four  remaining  Indians  were  safely  concealed 
at  the  same  distance,  protected  no  less  by  the  fortifi- 
cation than  by  the  loose  boulders  behind  which  they 
crouched  for  the  final  spring.  Lane  realized  the  fact 
that  his  next  shots,  to  be  effective,  must  be  at  a  down- 
ward angle,  and  to  fire  them  he  must  expose  himself. 


The   Round-Up  25 

'This  is  my  finish,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "Better 
be  killed  instantly  than  tortured.  I  hope  all  four  will 
hit  me.  Good-by,  Jinny" — crack!  went  his  rifle. 
"Good-by,  Nance" — crack!  again. 

At  the  two  shots,  surmising  that  the  prospector  had 
shot  himself  and  his  horse,  the  Apaches  did  not  wait 
for  the  signal,  but  sprang  forward  and  climbed  upon 
the  wall  before  Lane  had  had  time  to  mount  it.  Two 
of  them  he  shot  as  they  leaped  down  within  the  enclo- 
sure. As  he  reversed  his  Winchester  to  kill  himself 
with  the  last  cartridge,  he  noted  that  the  two  remain- 
ing Apaches  had  dropped  their  rifles  and  were  leap- 
ing upon  him  to  take  him  alive.  He  brought  his 
clubbed  weapon  down  upon  the  head  of  one  of  them, 
crushing  his  skull.  At  the  same  instant  Lane  was 
borne  to  the  ground  by  the  other  Apache,  who,  seizing 
him  by  the  throat,  began  throttling  him  into  insensi- 
bility. In  desperation,  Lane  bethought  himself  of  the 
cliff,  and,  by  a  mighty  effort,  whirled  over  upon  his 
captor  toward  the  precipice.  The  ground  sloped 
slightly  in  that  direction,  and  the  combatants  rolled 
over  and  over  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff,  where  the 
Indian,  for  the  first  time  realizing  that  the  prospector's 
purpose  was  to  hurl  both  of  them  to  destruction,  loos- 


26  The   Round-Up 

ened  his  hold  upon  the  prospector's  throat  that  he 
might  use  his  hands  to  brace  himself  against  the  other- 
wise inevitable  plunge  into  the  valley  below.  In  an 
instant  Lane's  hands  were  at  the  Indian's  throat,  and  in 
another  turn  he  was  uppermost,  and  kneeling  upon 
his  foe  at  the  very  verge  of  the  precipice. 

Both  combatants  were  now  thoroughly  exhausted. 
Lane  concentrated  all  his  remaining  strength  in  throt- 
tling the  savage.  But,  just  as  the  tense  form  beneath 
him  grew  lax  with  evident  unconsciousness,  and  the 
head  fell  limply  back,  extending  over  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  his  own  head  was  jerked  violently  backward  by  a 
noose  cast  around  his  lacerated  neck. 

When  Lane  recovered  consciousness  he  found  him- 
self lying  on  his  back,  bound  hand  and  foot  by  a 
lariat,  and  looking  up  into  a  grinning  face  that  he  rec- 
ognized. 

"Buck  McKee !"  he  gasped.  "This  is  certainly  white 
of  you  considering  the  circumstances  of  our  last  meet- 
ing. Did  you  come  with  the  Rurales?" 

"Hell,  no!  I  come  ahead  of  'em.  In  fact,  Dick 
Lane,  you  air  jist  a  leetle  bit  off  in  your  idees  about 
which  party  I  belong  to.  When  you  damned  me  fer  a 
thievin*  half-breed,  and  run  me  off  the  range,  an'  tole 


The   Round-Up  27 

me  to  go  to  the  Injuns,  whar  I  belonged,  I  tuk  yer  ad- 
vice. I'm  what  you  might  call  the  rear-guard  of  the 
outfit  you've  jist  been  havin'  your  shootin'-match  with. 
Or  I  was  the  rear-guard,  for  you've  wiped  out  the 
whole  dam'  battalion,  so  fur  as  I  can  see.  Served  'em 
right  fur  detailin'  me,  the  only  decent  shooter  in  the 
bunch,  to  watch  the  horses.  I  got  one  shot  in  as  it  wuz. 
Well,  as  the  last  of  the  outfit,  I  own  a  string  of  ten 
ponies.  All  I  need  now  to  set  up  in  business  is  to  have 
some  prospector  who  hain't  long  to  live,  leave  me  his 
little  pile  uv  dust  an'  nuggets,  an'  the  claims  he's  lo- 
cated back  in  the  mountains.  You  look  a  leetle  mite 
like  the  man.  It'll  save  vallible  time  if  you  make 
yer  dear  friend,  Buck  McKee,  administrater  uv  yer 
estate  without  too  much  persuadin'.  You  had  some 
objection  oncet  to  my  slittin'  a  calf's  tongue.  Well, 
you  needn't  be  scared  just  yet.  That's  the  last  thing 
I'll  do  to  you.  Come,  where's  your  cache?  I  know 
you've  got  one  hereabouts,  fer  I  foun'  signs  of  the 
dust  in  your  pack." 

Lane  set  his  teeth  in  a  firm  resolution  not  to  say  a 
word.  The  taunts  of  his  captor  were  harder  to  bear 
in  silence  than  the  prospects  of  torture. 

"Stubborn,  hey?    Well,  we'll  try  a  little  Tache  per- 


28  The   Round-Up 

suadin'."  And  the  renegade  dragged  his  helpless  cap- 
tive up  to  the  thorny  sahuaro,  and  bound  his  back 
against  it  with  the  dead  horse's  bridle.  McKee 
searched  through  Lane's  pockets  until  he  found  a 
match. 

"Last  one,  hey?  Kinder  'propriate.  Las'  drink 
from  the  old  canteen,  las'  ca'tridge,  last  look  at  the 
scenery,  and  las'  will  an'  testyment  Oh,  time's  pre- 
cious, but  I'll  spare  you  enough  to  map  out  in  yer 
mind  jes'  where  them  claims  is  located.  The  Rurales 
won't  be  along  fer  an  hour  yet,  if  they  hain't  turned 
back  after  our  other  party." 

McKee  pulled  off  Lane's  boots.  "It  'ain't  decent 
fer  a  man  to  die  with  'em  on,"  he  said.  He  then  kin- 
dled a  fire  on  the  stone,  beneath  which,  if  he  but  knew 
it,  lay  the  treasure  he  sought.  He  returned  with  a 
burning  brand  to  the  captive.  For  the  first  time  he  ob- 
served the  snake  impaled  on  the  sahuaro,  writhing  still, 
but  feebly.  "Hullo,  ole  rattler,"  he  exclaimed ;  "here's 
somethin'  to  stir  you  up;"  and  he  tossed  the  brand 
upon  the  top  of  the  cactus. 

Taking  another  burning,  stick  from  the  fire,  he  ap- 
plied it  to  the  soles  of  his  victim's  feet.  Lane  writhed 
and  groaned  under  the  excruciating  torture,  but  ut- 


TheRound-Up  *9 

tered  no  word  or  cry.     McKee  brought  other  brands, 
and  began  piling  them  about  his  captive's  feet. 

In  the  meantime  the  sahuaro  had  caught  fire  at  the 
top,  and  was  burning  down  through  the  interior.  A 
thin  column  of  smoke  rose  straight  above  it  in  the  still 
air.  The  Rurales  in  the  valley  below,  who  had  reached 
the  beginning  of  the  ascending  trail,  and  were  on  the 
point  of  giving  up  the  pursuit,  saw  the  smoke,  and,  in- 
ferred that  the  Apaches,  either  through  overconfidence 
or  because  of  their  superstitious  fear  of  the  mountains, 
which  they  supposed  inhabited  by  spirits,  had  camped 
on  the  edge  of  the  valley,  and  were  signaling  to  their 
other  party.  Accordingly  the  Mexicans  renewed  the 
chase  with  increased  vigor. 

As  McKee  bent  over  his  captive's  feet,  piling  against 
them  the  burning  ends  of  the  sticks,  the  rattlesnake  on 
the  sahuaro,  incited  by  the  fire  above,  struggled  free 
from  the  impaling  thorns  by  a  desperate  effort,  and 
dropped  on  the  back  of  the  half-breed.  It  struck  its 
fangs  into  his  neck.  McKee,  springing  up  with  an  en- 
ergy that  scattered  the  sticks  he  was  piling,  tore  the 
reptile  loose,  hurled  it  upon  the  ground,  and  stamped 
it  into  the  earth.  Then  he  picked  up  one  of  the  brandy 
and  with  it  cauterized  the  wound.  All  the  while  he  was 


3P  The    Round-Up 

cursing  volubly — the  snake,  himself,  and  even  Dick 
Lane,  who  was  now  lying  in  a  dead  faint  caused  by  the 
torture. 

"Damn  such  a  prospector!  Not  a  drop  of  whisky 
in  his  outfit!  I'd  slit  his  tongue  fer  him  if  he  wasn't 
already  done  fer.  I  must  keep  movin' — movin',  or 
I'm  a  dead  man.  I  must  hustle  along  to  the  moun- 
tains, leadin'  my  horse.  Up  there  I'll  find  yarbs  to  ^ 
cure  snake-bite  that  my  Cherokee  grandmother  showed 
me.  The  Rurales  will  have  to  get  the  other  ponies, 
but  some  day  I'll  come  back  after  Lane's  cache." 

A  half-hour  later  the  Mexican  guards  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  and  unbound  Lane's  unconscious  form  from 
the  sahuaro,  which  the  fire  had  consumed  to  within 
a  foot  of  his  bowed  head.  They  deluged  his  face  and 
back,  and  bathed  his  tortured  feet  with  the  contents  of 
their  canteens,  and  brought  him  back  to  life,  but,  alas ! 
not  to  reason. 

Six  months  later  there  limped  out  of  Chihuahua 
hospital  a  discharged  patient,  wry-necked,  crook- 
backed,  with  drawn  features,  and  hair  and  beard 
streaked  with  gray.  It  was  Dick  Lane,  restored  to  his 
old  physical  strength,  so  far  as  the  distortion  of  his 
spine,  caused  by  his  torture,  permitted,  and  to  the  full 


TheRound-Up  31 

possession  of  his  mental  faculties.  He  mounted  one 
of  the  captured  ponies,  and  rode  off  with  the  proceeds 
of  the  sales  of  the  others  in  his  pocket,  to  purchase  pro- 
visions for  a  return  to  his  prospecting. 

Before  plunging  into  the  wilderness  he  wrote  a  let- 
ter: 

"Chihuahua,  Mexico. 
"Mr.  John  Payson, 

"Sweetwater  Ranch, 

"Florence,  Arizona  Territory,  U.  S.  A. 

"DEAR  JACK  :  I  have  been  sick  and  out  of  my  head 
in  the  hospital  here  for  the  last  six  months.  Just  about 
the  time  you  all  were  expecting  me  home,  I  had  a  run 
in  with  the  Apaches.  And  who  do  you  think  was  with 
them?  Buck  McKee,  the  half-breed  that  I  ran  off  the 
range  two  years  ago  for  tongue-slitting.  After  I  had 
done  for  all  the  rest,  he  got  me,  and — well,  the  story's 
too  long  to  write.  I  rather  think  McKee  has  made 
off  with  the  gold  I  had  cached  just  before  the  fight. 
I'm  going  back  to  see,  and  if  he  did,  I'll  hustle  around 
to  find  a  buyer  for  one  of  my  claims.  I  don't  want 
to  sell  my  big  mine,  Jack.  I  tell  you  I  struck  it  rich ! 
— but  that  story  can  wait  till  I  get  back.  Your  loan 
can't,  though,  so  expect  to  receive  $3,000  by  express 
some  time  before  I  put  in  an  appearance.  I  hope  you 
got  the  mortgage  renewed  at  the  end  of  the  year.  If 
my  failure  to  show  up  then  has  caused  you  trouble, 
you'll  forgive  me,  old  fellow,  I  know,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. I'll  make  it  up  to  you.  I  owe  you  every- 
thing. You're  the  best  friend  a  man  ever  had.  That's 
why  I'm  writing  to  you  instead  of  to  Uncle  Jim,  for  I 
want  you  to  do  me  another  friendly  service.  Just 
break  it  gently  to  Echo  Allen  that  I'm  alive  and  well, 


32  The   Round-Up 

though  pretty  badly  damaged  by  that  renegade  McKee, 
and  tell  her  that  it  wasn't  my  fault  I  wasn't  home  on 
the  day  I  promised.  She'll  forgive  me,  I  know,  and 
be  patient  a  while  longer.  It's  all  for  her  sake  I'm 
staying  away.  Give  her  the  letter  I  enclose. 

"Your  old  bunkie, 

"DiCK  LANE." 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Heart  of  a  Girl 

Jim  Allen  was  the  sole  owner  and  proprietor  of 
Allen  Hacienda.  His  ranch,  the  Bar  One,  stretched 
for  miles  up  and  down  the  Sweetwater  Valley. 
Bounded  on  the  east  and  west  by  the  foot-hills,  the 
tract  was  one  of  the  garden  spots  of  Arizona.  South- 
ward lay  the  Sweetwater  Ranch,  owned  by  Jack  Pay- 
son.  Northward  was  the  home  ranch  of  the  Lazy  K, 
an  Ishmaelitish  outfit,  ever  at  petty  war  with  the  other 
settlers  in  the  district.  It  was  a  miscellaneous  and  con- 
stantly changing  crowd,  recruited  from  rustlers  from 
Wyoming,  gamblers  from  California,  half-breed  out- 
laws from  the  Indian  Territory;  in  short,  "bad  men" 
from  every  section  of  the  Western  country.  They 
had  a  special  grudge  against  Allen  and  Payson,  whom 
they  held  to  be  accountable  for  the  sudden  disappear- 
ance, about  a  year  before,  of  their  leader,  Buck  Mc- 
Kee,  a  half-breed  from  the  Cherokee  Strip.  How- 
ever, no  other  leader  had  arisen  equal  to  that  masterful 
spifit;  and  their  enmity  expressed  itself  only  in  such 


34  TheRound-Up 

petty  depredations  as  changing  brands  on  stray  cattle 
from  the  Bar  One  and  Sweetwater  Ranches,  and  the 
slitting  of  the  tongues  of  young  calves,  so  that  these 
would  be  unable  to  feed  properly,  and,  as  a  result,  be 
disowned  by  their  mothers,  whereupon  the  Lazy  K 
outfit  would  slap  its  brand  on  them  as  mavericks. 

Allen  was  a  Kentuckian  who  had  served  in  the  Con- 
federate Army  as  one  of  Morgan's  raiders,  and  so  had 
received,  by  popular  brevet,  the  title  of  colonel.  At  the 
close  of  the  war  he  had  come  to  Arizona  with  his 
young  wife,  Josephine,  and  had  founded  a  home  on 
the  Sweetwater.  He  was  now  one  of  the  cattle  barons 
of  the  great  Southwest.  Prosperity  had  not  spoiled 
him.  Careless  in  his  attire,  cordial  in  his  manner,  he 
was  a  man  who  was  loved  and  respected  by  his  men, 
from  the  newest  tenderfoot  to  the  veteran  of  the  bunk- 
house.  His  wife,  however,  was  not  so  highly  regarded, 
for  she  had  never  been  able  to  recognize  changes  in 
time  or  location  and  so  was  in  perpetual  conflict  with 
her  environment.  She  attempted  to  make  the  free  and 
independent  cowboys  of  the  Arizona  plains  "stand 
around"  like  the  house  servants  of  the  Kentucky  Blue- 
grass;  and  she  persisted  in  the  effort  to  manage  her 
husband  by  the  feminine  artifice  of  weeping.  In  the 


The   Round-Up  35 

days  of  her  youth  and  beauty  this  had  been  very  ef- 
fective, but  now  that  these  had  passed,  it  was  pro- 
ductive only  of  good-humored  raillery  from  him,  and 
mirth  from  the  bystanders. 

"No  wonder  Jim  has  the  finest  ranch  in  Arizony," 
the  cowboys  were  wont  to  say,  "with  Josephine  a  ir- 
rigatin'  it  all  the  time." 

Allen  Hacienda  was  certainly  a  garden  spot  in  that 
desert  country.  The  building  was  of  the  old  Mexican 
style,  an  architecture  found,  by  centuries  of  experi- 
ence, to  be  suited  best  to  the  climate  and  the  materials 
of  the  land.  The  house  was  only  one  story  in  height. 
The  rooms  and  outbuildings  sprawled  over  a  wide 
expanse  of  ground.  The  walls  were  of  native  stone 
and  adobe  clay;  over  them  clambered  grape-vines. 
In  front  of  the  home  Mrs.  Allen  had  planted  a  gar- 
den. A  'dobe  wall  cut  off  the  house  from  the  corral 
and  the  bunk-house.  A  heavy  girder  spanned  the 
distance  from  the  low  roof  to  the  top  of  the  barrier. 
Latticework,  supporting  a  grave-vine,  formed,  with 
a  girder,  a  gateway  through  which  one  could  catch 
from  the  piazza,  a  view  of  a  second  cultivated  plot. 
Palms  and  flowering  cacti  added  color  and  life  to  the 
near  prospect.  Through  the  arbor  a  glimpse  of  the 


jft  The   Round-Up 

Tortilla  Mountains,  forty  miles  away,  held  the  eye. 
The  Sweetwater,  its  path  across  the  plains  outlined 
by  the  trees  fringing  its  banks,  flowed  past  the  ranch. 
Yucca  palms  and  sahuaroes  threw  a  scanty  shade  over 
the  garden. 

Shortly  after  the  arrival  of  the  Aliens  in  Arizona 
they  were  blessed  with  a  daughter,  the  first  white 
child  born  in  that  region.  They  waited  for  a  Protes- 
tant clergyman  to  come  along  before  christening  her, 
and,  as  such  visits  were  few  and  far  between,  the  child 
was  beginning  to  talk  before  she  received  a  name. 
From  a  "cunning"  habit  she  had  of  repeating  the 
last  words  of  questions  put  to  her,  her  father  provision- 
ally dubbed  her  Echo,  which  name,  when  the  preacher 
came,  he  insisted  upon  her  retaining. 

As  Echo  grew  older,  in  order  that  she  might  have 
a  companion,  Colonel  Allen  went  to  Kentucky  and 
brought  back  with  him  a  little  orphan  girl,  who  was 
a  distant  relative  of  his  wife.  Polly  Hope  her  name 
was,  and  Polly  Hope  she  insisted  on  remaining,  al- 
though the  Aliens  would  gladly  have  adopted  her. 

Colonel  Allen  trained  the  girls  in  all  the  craft  of 
the  plains,  just  as  if  they  were  boys.  He  taught  them 
to  ride  astride,  to  shoot,  to  rope  cattle.  They  accorn- 


The  Round-Up  17 

panied  him  everywhere  he  went,  cantering  on  broncos 
by  the  side  of  his  Kentucky  thoroughbred.  Merry, 
dark-eyed,  black-haired  Echo  always  rode  upon  the 
off  side,  and  saucy  Polly,  with  golden  curls,  blue  eyes, 
and  tip-tilted  nose,  upon  the  near.  The  ex-Confed- 
erate soldier  dubbed  them,  in  military  style,  his  "right 
and  left  wings."  As  the  three  would  "make  a  raid" 
upon  Florence,  the  county  town,  the  inhabitants  did 
not  need  to  look  out  of  doors  to  ascertain  who  were 
coming,  for  the  merriment  of  the  little  girls  gave 
sufficient  indication.  "Here  comes  Jim  Allen  ridin' 
like  the  destroyin'  angel,"  said  young  Sheriff  Hoover, 
on  one  of  these  occasions,  "I  know  him  by  the  rustlin' 
of  his  'wings.'  " 

The  household  was  again  increased  a  few  years  later 
by  the  generous  response  of  the  Aliens  to  an  appeal 
from  a  Children's  Aid  Society  in  an  Eastern  city  to 
give  a  home  to  two  orphaned  brothers,  Richard  and 
Henry  Lane.  "Dick"  and  "Buddy"  (shortened  in 
time  to  Bud),  as  they  were  called,  being  taken  young, 
quickly  adapted  themselves  to  their  new  environment, 
and  by  the  time  they  arrived  at  manhood  had  proved 
themselves  the  equals  of  any  cowboy  on  the  range  m 
horsemanship  and  kindred  accomplishments.  Dick,  the 


#  The   Round-Up 

elder  brother,  was  a  steady,  reliable  fellow,  modest  as 
he  was  brave,  and  remarkably  quick-witted  and  re- 
sourceful in  emergencies.  He  gave  his  confidence 
over  readily  to  his  fellows,  but  if  ever  he  found  him- 
self deceived,  withdrew  it  absolutely.  It  was  probably 
this  last  characteristic  that  attracted  to  him  Echo  Al- 
len's especial  regard,  for  it  was  also  her  distinguishing 
trait.  "You  have  got  to  act  square  with  Echo,"  her 
father  was  wont  to  say,  "for  if  you  don't  you'll  never 
make  it  square  with  her  afterward." 

Bud  was  a  generous-hearted,  impetuous  boy,  who  re- 
sponded warmly  to  affection.  He  repaid  his  elder 
brother's  protecting  care  with  a  loyalty  that  knew  no 
bounds.  The  Colonel,  who  was  a  strict  disciplinarian, 
frequently  punished  him  in  his  boyhood  for  wayward 
acts,  and  the  little  fellow  made  no  resistance — only 
sobbed  in  deep  penitence.  Once,  however,  when 
Uncle  Jim,  as  the  boys  and  Polly  called  him,  felt  com- 
pelled to  apply  the  rod  to  Dick — unjustly,  as  it  after- 
ward appeared — Bud  burst  into  a  tempest  of  passionate 
tears,  and,  leaping  upon  the  Colonel's  back,  clung  there 
clawing  and  striking  like  a  wildcat  until  Allen  was 
forced  to  let  Dick  go.  It  is  shrewdly  indicative  of 
the  Colonel's  character  that  not  only  did  he  refrain 


TheRound-Up  39 

from  punishing  Bud  on  that  occasion,  but,  when  flog- 
gings were  subsequently  due  the  little  fellow,  laid  on 
the  rod  less  heavily  out  of  regard  for  the  loyalty  to 
his  brother  he  had  then  displayed. 

This  attack  also  won  the  admiration  of  Polly  Hope, 
who  was  something  of  a  spitfire  herself.  A  little 
jealous  of  Dick  for  the  chief  place  he  held  in  Bud's 
affection,  she  openly  claimed  the  younger  brother  as 
her  sweetheart,  and  attempted  to  constitute  him  her 
knight — though  with  repeated  discouragements,  for 
Bud  was  a  bashful  lad,  and,  though  he  had  a  true 
affection  for  the  girl,  boylike  concealed  it  by  a  show 
of  rude  indifference. 

The  tender  relations  of  these  boys  and  girls  per- 
sisted naturally  into  young  manhood  and  womanhood. 
No  word  of  love  passed  between  Dick  and  Echo  until 
that  time  when  the  "nesting  impulse,"  the  desire  to 
have  a  home  of  his  own,  prompted  the  young  man  to 
go  out  into  the  world  and  win  his  fortune.  For  a 
year  he  had  acted  as  foreman  of  the  Allen  ranch, 
working  in  neighborly  cooperation  with  Jack  Payson, 
of  Sweetwater  Ranch,  a  man  of  about  his  own  age. 
The  two  young  men  became  the  closest  of  comrades. 
When  the  fever  of  adventure  seized  upon  Lane,  and  he 


40  The  Round-Up 

became  dissatisfied  with  the  plodding  career  of  a 
wage-earner,  Payson  insisted  on  mortgaging  Sweet- 
water  Ranch  for  three  thousand  dollars  and  in  lending 
Dick  the  money  for  a  year's  prospecting  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Sonora,  Mexico,  in  search  of  a  fabulously 
rich  "Lost  Mine  of  the  Aztecs." 

Traditions  of  lost  mines  are  plentiful  in  Arizona 
and  northern  Mexico.  First  taken  up  by  the  Spanish 
invaders  of  three  hundred  years  ago  from  the  native 
Indians,  they  have  been  passed  down  to  each  subse- 
quent influx  of  white  men.  The  directions  are  always 
vague.  The  inquirer  cannot  pin  his  informant  down 
to  any  definite  data.  Over  the  mountains  always  lies 
the  road.  Hundreds  of  lives  have  been  sacrificed,  and 
cruelty  unparalleled  practised  upon  innocent  men, 
women,  and  children,  by  gold-seekers  in  their  lust  for 
conquest.  Prosperous  Indian  villages  have  been  laid 
waste,  and  whole  bands  of  adventurers  have  gone  into 
the  desert  in  the  search  of  these  mines,  never  to  re- 
turn. 

When  the  time  for  Lane's  departure  came  Echo  wept 
at  the  thought  of  losing  for  so  long  a  time  the  close 
companion  of  her  childhood  and  the  sympathetic  con- 
fidant of  her  youthful  thoughts  and  aspirations.  Dick, 


The   Round-Up  ** 

in  whom  friendship  for  Echo  had  long  before  ripened 
into  conscious  love,  took  her  tears  as  evidence  that 
she  was  similarly  affected  toward  him,  and  he  allowed 
all  the  suppressed  passion  of  his  nature  full  vent  in 
a  declaration  of  love.  'The  girl  was  deeply  moved  by 
this  revelation  of  the  heart  of  a  strong  man  made  ten- 
der as  a  woman's  by  a  power  centering  in  her  own 
humble  self,  and,  being  utterly  without  experience  of 
the  emotion  even  in  its  protective  form  of  calf-love, 
which  is  the  varioloid  of  the  genuine  infection,  she  im- 
agined through  sheer  sympathy  that  she  shared  his 
passion.  So  she  assented  with  maidenly  reserve  to 
his  plea  that  she  promise  to  marry  him  when  he  should 
return  and  provide  a  home  for  her.  Her  more  cautious 
mother  secured  a  modification  of  this  pledge  by  limit- 
ing the  time  that  Echo  should  wait  for  him  to  one 
year.  If  at  the  expiration  of  that  period  Lane  did  not 
return  to  claim  her  promise,  or  did  not  write  making 
satisfactory  arrangements  for  continuance  of  the  en- 
gagement, Echo  was  to  be  considered  free  to  marry 
whom  she  chose. 

Soon  after  Lane's  departure  Mrs.  Allen  persuaded 
the  Colonel  to  send  Echo  east  to  a  New  England  fin- 
ishing-school for  girls,  where  her  mother  hoped  that 


42  The    Round-Up 

her  budding  love  for  Lane  might  be  nipped  by  the 
frigid  atmosphere  of  intellectual  culture,  if  not,  indeed, 
supplanted  by  a  saving  interest  in  young  men  in  gen- 
eral, and,  perhaps,  in  some  particular  scion  of  a  blue- 
blooded  Boston  family. 

The  plan  succeeded  in  part  only.  The  companion- 
ship of  her  schoolfellows,  her  music  and  art-lessons 
her  books  (during  the  limited  periods  allotted  to  seri- 
ous study  and  reading),  and,  above  all,  her  attrition 
at  receptions  with  another  order  of  men  than  that  she 
had  known  in  the  rough,  uncultured  West,  occupied 
her  mind  so  fully  that  poor  Dick  Lane,  who  was  put- 
ting a  thought  of  Echo  Allen  in  every  blow  of  his 
pick,  received  only  the  scraps  of  her  attention. 

Dick  had  few  opportunities  to  mail  a  letter,  and 
none  of  them  for  receiving  one.  Unpractised  in 
writing,  his  epistolary  compositions  were  crude  in  the 
extreme,  being  wholly  confined  to  bald  statements  of 
fact.  Had  he  been  as  tender  on  paper  as  he  was  in 
his  words  and  accents  when  he  kissed  away  her  tears 
at  parting,  her  regard  for  him  would  have  had  fuel  to 
feed  on  and  might  have  kindled  into  genuine  love.  As 
it  was,  she  was  forced  to  admit  that,  in  comparison 
with  the  brilliant  university  men  with  whom  she  con- 


TheRound-Up  43 

versed,  Dick  Lane,  intellectually,  was  as  quartz  to  dia- 
mond. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  contrasted  Dick  in  the  es- 
sential point  of  manliness  most  favorably  with  the 
male  butterflies  of  society  that  hovered  around  her. 
What  one  of  them  was  so  essentially  chivalrous  as 
the  Western  man;  so  modest,  so  self-sacrificing,  so 
brave  and  resolute  and  resourceful?  Dick  Lane,  or 
Jack  Payson,  for  that  matter,  in  all  save  the  adventi- 
tious points  of  education  and  culture  was  the  higher 
type  of  manhood,  and  Jack,  at  least,  if  not  poor  Dick, 
eould  hold  his  own  in  mental  and  artistic  perception 
with  the  brightest,  most  cultured  of  Harvard  graduates. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  she  came  back  home  to  await 
Dick's  return  from  the  wilds  of  Mexico.  There  was 
great  anxiety  about  his  safety,  for  Geronimo,  attacked 
by  Crook  in  the  Apache  stronghold  of  the  Tonto  Basin, 
had  escaped  to  the  mountains  of  northwestern  Mexico 
with  his  band  of  fierce  Chiricahuas. 

Now  Dick  Lane  had  not  been  heard  from  in  this 
region.  When  he  neither  made  appearance  nor  sent 
a  message  upon  the  day  appointed  for  his  return,  his 
brother,  Bud,  was  for  setting  out  instantly  to  find  him, 
and  rescue  him  if  he  were  in  difficulties. 


44  The    Round-Up 

Then  it  was  that  Echo  Allen  discovered  the  true 
nature  of  her  affection  for  her  lover,  that  it  was  sis- 
terly regard,  differing  only  in  degree,  but  not  in  kind, 
from  that  which  she  felt  for  his  brother.  She  joined 
with  Polly  in  opposing  Bud's  going,  urging  his  reck- 
lessness as  a  reason.  "You  are  certain  to  be  killed," 
she  said,  "and  I  cannot  lose  you  both."  Jack  Payson, 
for  whom  Bud  was  working,  then  came  forward  and 
offered  to  accompany  him,  and  keep  him  within 
bounds.  Again  there  was  a  revelation  of  her  heart  to 
Echo,  and  one  that  terrified  her  with  a  sense  of  disloy- 
alty. It  was  Jack  she  really  loved,  noble,  chivalric, 
wonderful  Jack  Payson,  whom,  with  a  Southern  girl's 
intensity  of  feeling,  she  had  unconsciously  come  to  re- 
gard as  her  standard  of  all  that  makes  for  manhood. 
Plausible  objections  could  not  be  urged  against  his  sac- 
rificing himself  for  his  friend.  With  an  irresistible 
impulse  she  cast  herself  upon  his  breast  and  said :  "I 
cannot  bear  to  see  you  go." 

Payson  gently  disengaged  her  arms. 

"I  must,  Echo.  It  is  what  Dick  would  do  for  me 
if  I  were  in  his  place." 

However,  while  Payson  and  Bud  were  preparing 
for  their  departure,  Buck  McKee  appeared  in  the 


The   Round-Up  44 

region  and  reported  that  Dick  Lane  had  been  killed 
by  the  Apaches.  He  told  with  convincing  details 
how  he  had  met  Lane  as  each  was  returning  from  a 
successful  prospecting  trip  in  the  Ghost  Range,  and 
how  they  had  sunk  their  differences  in  standing  to- 
gether against  an  attack  of  the  Indians.  He  extolled 
Dick's  bravery,  relating  how,  severely  wounded,  he 
had  stood  off  the  savages  to  enable  himself  to  escape. 

When  he  handed  over  Dick's  watch  to  Echo — for  he 
had  learned  on  his  return  that  she  was  betrothed  to 
Lane — as  a  last  token  from  her  lover,  no  doubt  re- 
mained in  the  minds  of  his  hearers  of  the  truth  of  his 
story,  and  Payson  and  Bud  Lane  gave  up  their  pur- 
posed expedition. 

The  owner  of  Sweet  water  Ranch,  while  accepting 
McKee's  account,  could  not  wholly  forget  the  half- 
breed's  former  evil  reputation,  and  was  reserved  in 
his  reception  of  the  advances  of  the  ex-rustler  who 
was  anxious  to  curry  favor.  Warm-hearted,  impul- 
sive Bud,  however,  whose  fraternal  loyaky  had  in- 
creased under  his  bereavement  to  the  supreme  passion 
of  life,  took  the  insinuating  half-breed  into  the  aching 
vacancy  made  by  his  brother's  death.  The  two  be- 
came boon  companions,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the 


4-6  The    Round-Up 

younger  man's  morals.  McKee  had  plenty  of  money, 
which  he  spent  liberally,  gambling  and  carousing  in 
company  with  Bud.  Polly  was  wild  with  indignation 
at  her  sweetheart's  desertion,  and  savagely  upbraided 
him  for  his  conduct  whenever  they  met,  which,  as 
may  be  inferred,  grew  less  and  less  frequently.  In  re- 
venge she  made  advances  to  another  man  who  had 
long  "loved  her  from  afar." 

This  was  William  Henry  Harrison  Hoover,  sheriff 
of  the  county,  known  as  "Slim"  Hoover  by  the  hu- 
morous propensity  of  men  on  the  range  to  give  nick- 
names on  the  principle  of  contraries,  for  he  was  the 
fattest  man  in  Final  County.  Slim  was  one  of  those 
fleshy  men  who  have  nerves  of  steel  and  muscles  of 
iron.  A  round,  boyish  face,  twinkling  blue  eyes,  and 
flaming  red  hair  gave  him  an  appearance  of  innocence 
entirely  at  variance  with  his  personality.  A  vein  of 
sentiment  made  him  all  the  more  lovable.  His  asso- 
ciates— ranchers,  men  of  the  plains,  soldiers,  and  the 
owners  and  frequenters  of  the  frontier  barroom — re- 
spected him  greatly. 

"He's  square  as  Slim"  was  the  best  recommendation 
ever  given  of  a  man  in  that  region. 


The   Round-Up  47 

Final  County  settlers  had  made  Slim  sheriff  term 
after  term  because  he  was  the  one  citizen  supremely 
fitted  for  the  place.  He  had  ridden  the  range  and 
"busted"  broncos  before  election.  After  it  he  hunted 
wrong-doers.  Right  was  right  and  wrong  was  wrong 
to  him.  There  was  no  shading  in  the  meaning.  All 
he  asked  of  men  was  to  ride  fast,  shoot  straight,  and 
deal  squarely  in  any  game.  He  admitted  that  murder, 
horse-stealing,  and  branding  another  man's  calves 
were  subjects  for  the  unwritten  law.  But  in  his  code 
this  law  meant  death  only  after  a  fair  trial,  with  neigh- 
bors for  a  jury.  He  was  not  scrupulous  that  a  judge 
should  be  present.  His  duties  were  ended  when  he 
brought  in  his  prisoner. 

Hoover's  rule  had  been  marked  by  the  taming  of 
bad  men  in  Florence,  and  a  truce  declared  in  the 
guerrilla  warfare  between  the  cattlemen  and  the  sheep- 
men on  the  range. 

Slim's  seemingly  superfluous  flesh  was  really  of 
great  advantage  to  him:  it  served  as  a  mask  for  his 
remarkable  athletic  abilities,  and  so  lulled  the  outlaws 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal  into  a  false  sense  of  su- 
periority and  security. 


48  The   Round-Up 

Slow  and  lethargic  in  his  ordinary  movements,  in 
an  emergency  he  was  quick  as  a  panther,  never  failing 
to  get  the  drop  on  his  man. 

Furthermore,  his  fat  exerted  a  beneficial  influence 
on  his  character  in  keeping  him  humble-minded.  Be- 
ing the  most  popular  man  in  the  county,  he  would 
probably  have  been  swollen  with  vanity  had  there 
been  any  space  left  vacant  for  it  in  his  huge  frame. 
He  was  especially  admired  by  the  women,  but  was  at 
ease  only  in  the  company  of  those  who  were  married. 
It  was  his  fate  to  see  the  few  girls  of  the  region, 
with  every  one  of  whom,  by  turns,  he  was  in  love, 
grow  up  to  marry  each  some  less  diffident  wooer. 

"Dangnation  take  it!"  he  used  to  say,  "I  don't  git 
up  enough  spunk  to  cut  a  heifer  out  o'  the  herd  until 
somebody  else  has  roped  her  and  slapped  his  brand 
onto  her.  Talk  about  too  many  irons  in  the  fire, 
why,  I've  only  got  one,  and  it's  het  up  red  all  the 
time  waitin'  fer  the  right  chanct  to  use  it;  but  some- 
how I  never  git  it  out  o'  the  coals.  Hell!  what's  the 
use,  anyhow?  Nobody  loves  a  fat  man." 

Slim  was  inordinately  puffed  up  by  Polly's  pref- 
erence of  him,  which  she  showed  by  all  sorts  of  fem- 
inine tyrannies,  and  he  was  forced  continually  to  slap 


'  NOBODY   LOVES    A    FAT    MAN." 


Page  48. 


The   Round-Up  49 

his  huge  paunch  to  remind  himself  of  what  he  con- 
sidered his  disabling  deformity.  "Miss  Polly,"  he 
would  apostrophize  the  absent  lady,  "you  don't  know 
what  a  volcano  of  seethin'  fiery  love  this  here  moun- 
tain of  flesh  is  that  your  walkin'  over.  Some  day 
I'll  erupt,  and  jest  eternally  calcify  you,  if  you  don't 
look  out!" 

The  sheriff  took  no  stock  in  Buck  McKee's  pro- 
fessed reformation,  and  was  greatly  worried  over  the 
influence  he  had  acquired  over  Bud  Lane,  who  had 
before  this  been  Slim's  protege.  Accordingly,  he  read- 
ily conspired  with  her  to  break  off  the  relations  be- 
tween the  former  outlaw  and  the  young  horse-wran- 
gler, but  thus  far  had  met  with  no  success. 

Payson,  feeling  himself  absolved  by  the  death  of 
Dick  Lane  from  all  obligations  to  his  friend,  began 
openly  to  woo  Echo  Allen,  but  without  presuming 
upon  the  revelation  of  her  love  for  him  which  she 
had  made  at  his  proposition  to  go  into  the  desert  to 
Lane's  rescue.  She  responded  to  his  courteous  ad- 
vances as  frankly  and  naturally  as  a  bud  opens  to  the 
gentle  wooing  of  the  April  sun.  Softened  by  her  grief 
for  Dick  as  for  a  departed  brother,  as  the  flower  is 
by  the  morning  dew,  the  netals  of  her  affection 


50  TheRound-Up 

opened  and  laid  bare  her  heart  of  purest  gold.  The 
gentle,  diffident  girl  expanded  into  a  glorious  woman, 
conscious  of  her  powers,  and  proud  and  happy  that  she 
was  fulfilling  the  highest  function  of  womanhood, 
that  of  loving  and  aiding  with  her  love  a  noble  man. 

Jack  Payson,  however,  failed  to  get  the  proper 
credit  for  this  sudden  flowering  of  Echo's  beauty  and 
charm.  These  were  ascribed  to  her  year's  schooling 
in  the  East,  and  her  proud  mother  was  offended  by  the 
way  in  which  she  accepted  the  young  ranchman's  ad- 
vances. "You  hold  yourself  too  cheap,"  she  said.  "It 
is  at  least  due  to  the  memory  of  poor  Dick  Lane" 
(whom,  now  that  he  was  safely  dead,  she  idealized  into 
a  type  of  perfect  manhood)  "that  you  make  Jack 
wait  as  long  as  you  did  him."  When  Payson  rea- 
sonably objected  to  this  delay  by  pointing  out  that 
he  was  fully  able  to  support  a  wife,  as  Lane  had  not 
been,  and  proposed,  with  Echo's  assent,  six  months 
as  the  limit  of  waiting,  Mrs.  Allen  resorted  to  her  old 
expedient — tears. 

"Boo-hoo!  you  are  going  to  take  away  my  only 
daughter!" 

The  Colonel,  however,  though  he  had  loved  Dick 
Lane  as  if  he  were  his  own  son,  was  delighted  to 


The   Round-Up  51 

the  bottom  of  his  hospitable  soul  that  it  was  a  man  not 
already  in  the  family  circle  who  was  to  marry  Echo, 
especially  when  he  was  a  royal  fellow  like  Jack  Pay- 
son;  so  he  arranged  a  compromise  between  the  time 
proposed  by  Mrs.  Allen  and  that  desired  by  the  lovers, 
and  the  date  of  the  wedding  was  fixed  nine  months 
ahead. 

"It  will  fall  in  June,"  said  the  old  fellow,  who 
knew  exactly  how  to  handle  his  fractious  wife;  "the 
month  when  swell  folks  back  in  the  East  do  all  their 
hitchin'  up.  Why,  come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  the 
very  month  I  ran  off  with  you  in,  though  I  didn't  know 
then  that  we  was  elopin'  so  strictly  accordin'  to  the 
Book  of  Etikwet" 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  Woman's  Loyalty. 

The  first  instinctive  thought  of  a  man  reveals  his 
innate  character;  those  that  follow,  the  moral  nature 
that  he  has  acquired  through  environment  and  cir- 
cumstances. That  Jack  Payson  was  at  bottom  a 
good  man  is  shown  by  his  first  emotion,  which  was 
joy,  and  his  first  impulse,  which  was  to  impart  the 
glad  news  to  everybody,  upon  receiving  the  letter  from 
Dick  Lane  telling  that  he  was  alive  and  soon  to  come 
home.  He  was  in  his  house  at  the  time.  Bud  Lane 
had  just  brought  in  the  packet  of  mail  from  Flor- 
ence, and  was  riding  away.  Jack  uttered  a  cry  of  joy 
which  brought  the  young  man  back  to  the  door. 
"What  is  it?"  asked  Bud.  But  Jack  had  already  had 
time  for  his  damning  second  thought.  He  was 
stunned  by  the  consideration  that  the  promulgation 
of  the  news  in  the  letter  meant  his  loss  of  Echo  Allen. 
He  dissembled,  though  as  yet  he  was  not  able  to  tell 
an  outright  falsehood: 


The   Round-Up  53 

"It's  a  letter  telling  me  that  I  may  expect  to  re- 
ceive enough  money  in  a  month  or  so  to  pay  off  the 
mortgage.  Now  your  brother's  debt  needn't  trouble 
you  any  longer,  Bud." 

"IVhew-w!"  whistled  Bud.  "That's  great!  Where 
does  it  come  from?" 

"Oh,  from  an  old  friend  that  I  lent  the  money  to 
some  time  ago.  But,  say,  Bud,  there's  another  mat- 
ter I  want  to  talk  with  you  about.  You've  got  to 
shake  Buck  McKee.  I've  got  it  straight  that  he  is 
the  worst  man  in  Arizona  Territory — yes,  worse  than 
an  Apache.  Why,  he  has  been  with  Geronimo,  tor- 
turing and  massacring  lone  prospectors,  and  robbing 
them  of  their  gold." 

"That's  a  damned  lie,  Jack  Payson,  and  you  know 
it!"  cried  the  hot-headed  young  man.  "It  was  Buck 
McKee  who  stood  by  Dick's  side  and  fought  the 
Apaches.  And  I'll  stand  by  Buck  against  all  the 
world.  Everybody  is  in  a  conspiracy  against  him: 
Polly  and  Slim  Hoover  and  you.  Why  are  you  so 
ready  now  to  take  a  slanderer's  word  against  his? 
You  were  keen  enough  to  accept  his  story,  when  it 
let  you  out  of  going  to  Dick's  rescue,  and  gave  you 
free  swing  to  court  his  girl.  Let  me  see  the  name  of 


54  The   Round-Up 

the  damned  snake-in-the-grass  that's  at  the  bottom  of 
all  this!"  And  he  snatched  for  the  letter  in  Payson's 
hand. 

The  ranchman  quickly  thrust  the  missive  into  his 
pocket.  The  injustice  of  Bud's  reflections  on  his 
former  actions  gave  to  his  uneasy  conscience  just  that 
pretext  he  desired  for  justifying  his  present  course. 
His  cause  being  weak  and  unworthy,  he  whipped  up 
his  indignation  by  adopting  a  high  tone  and  over- 
bearing manner,  even  demeaning  himself  by  using  his 
position  as  Bud's  employer  to  crush  the  younger  man. 
Indeed,  at  the  end  of  the  scene  which  ensued  he  had 
well-nigh  convinced  himself  that  he  had  been  most 
ungratefully  treated  by  Bud  while  sincerely  attempt- 
ing to  save  the  boy  from  the  companionship  of  a 
fiend  in  human  guise. 

"No  matter  who  told  me,  young  man,"  be  ex- 
claimed ;  "I  got  it  straight,  and  you  can  take  it  straight 
from  me.  You  either  give  up  Buck  McKee  or  leave 
Sweetwater  Ranch.  Snake-in-the-grass!"  he  cried, 
working  himself  up  into  false  passion;  "it  is  you,  un- 
grateful boy,  who  are  sinking  the  serpent's  tooth  into 
the  hand  that  would  have  helped  you.  I  tell  you  now 


TheRound-Up  55 

that  I  intended  to  make  you  foreman,  though  Sage- 
brush Charley  is  an  older  and  better  man.  It  was  for 
Dick's  sake  I  would  have  done  it." 

"No!"  Bud  burst  forth;  "for  your  guilty  con- 
science's sake.  It  would  have  been  to  pay  for  step- 
ping into  Dick's  place  in  the  heart  of  a  faithless  girl. 
To  hell  with  your  job;  I'm  through  with  you!" 

And,  leaping  on  his  horse,  Bud  rode  furiously  back 
to  rejoin  Buck  McKee  in  Florence. 

Jack  Payson's  purpose  was  now  cinched  to  sup- 
press Dick  Lane's  letter  until  Echo  Allen  was  irrev- 
ocably joined  to  him  in  marriage.  He  argued  with 
himself  that  she  loved  him,  Jack  Pay  son,  yet  so  loyal 
was  she  by  nature  that  if  Dick  Lane  returned  before 
the  wedding  and  claimed  her,  she  would  sacrifice  her 
love  to  her  sense  of  duty.  This  would  ruin  her  life, 
he  reasoned,  and  he  could  not  permit  it.  There  was 
honesty  in  this  argument,  but  he  vitiated  it  by  de- 
ferring to  act  upon  the  suggestion  that  naturally  arose 
with  it:  Why,  then,  not  take  Jim  Alien,  Echo's  fa- 
ther, to  whom  her  happiness  was  the  chief  purpose  in 
life,  into  confidence  in  regard  to  the  matter?  There 
will  be  time  enough  to  tell  the  Colonel  before  the 
wedding,  he  thought.  In  the  meantime  something 


56  The   Round-Up 

might  happen  to  Dick,  and  he  may  never  return.  He 
is  certain  not  to  get  back  ahead  of  his  money. 

After  the  time  that  the  note  secured  by  the  mort- 
gage fell  due,  the  young  ranchman  had  already  secured 
two  extensions  of  it  for  three  months  each.  He  now 
arranged  a  third,  and  began  negotiating  for  the  sale 
of  some  of  his  cattle  to  take  up  the  note  at  the  next 
time  of  payment.  "I  can't  take  the  money  from  Dick," 
he  thought,  "even  if  he  does  owe  it  to  me.  And  yet, 
if  I  refuse  it,  it  will  be  like  buying  Echo — 'paying  for 
stepping  into  Dick's  place,'  as  Bud  expressed  it.  What 
to  do  I  don't  know.  Well,  events  will  decide."  And 
by  this  favorite  reflection  of  the  moral  coward,  Jack 
Payson  marked  the  lowest  depths  of  his  degradation. 

That  afternoon  Payson  rode  to  Allen  Hacienda  to 
see  Echo,  and  to  sound  her  upon  her  feelings  toward 
Dick  Lane.  He  wished  thoroughly  to  convince  him- 
self that  he,  Jack  Payson,  held  complete  sway  over 
her  heart.  Perhaps  he  might  dare  to  put  her  love  to 
the  test,  and  fulfil  the  trust  his  friend  had  imposed  on 
him,  by  giving  her  Dick's  letter. 

Payson  overtook  Polly  riding  slowly  on  her  way 
home  from  Florence.  She  barely  greeted  him.  "Has 
she  met  Bud,  and  has  he  been  slurring  me?"  he 


The   Round-Up  57 

thought.  He  checked  his  pacing  horse  to  the  half- 
trot,  half-walk,  of  Polly's  mount,  and,  ignoring  her 
incivility,  began  talking  to  her. 

"D'yeh  see  Bud  in  Florence?" 

"Yep.  Couldn't  help  it.  Him  an'  Buck  McKec 
are  about  the  whole  of  Florence  these  days." 

"Too  bad  about  Bud  consorting  with  that  rustler. 
I've  had  to  fire  him  for  it." 

"Fire  him?  Well  you  are  a  good  friend.  Talk 
about  men's  loyalty!  If  women  threw  men  down 
that  easy  you  all  would  go  to  the  bowwows  too  fest 
for  us  to  bake  dog-biscuit.  Now,  I've  settled  Buck 
McKee's  hash  by  putting  Slim  Hoover  wise  to  that 
tongue-slittin'.  Oh,  I'll  bring  Bud  around,  all  right, 
all  right,  even  if  men  that  ought  to  be  his  friends  go 
back  on  him." 

"But,  Pollykins " 

"Don't  you  girlie  me,  Jack  Payson.  I'm  a  woman, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  married  one,  too,  in  spite  of  all 
you -do  to  Bud.  Yes,  sirree,  bob.  I've  set  out  to  make 
a  man  of  him,  and  I'll  marry  him  to  do  it  if  he  ain't 
a  dollar  to  his  name.  But  money'd  make  it  lots 
quicker  an'  easier.  He  was  savin'  up  till  he  run  in 
with  Buck  McKee." 


58  The   Round-Up 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Payson.  Here  was  a  way 
to  dispose  of  Dick  Lane's  money  when  it  came. 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Bud  Lane  to  be.  Promise  not  to 
tell  Bud,  and  through  you  I'll  soon  make  good  to  him 
many  times  over  for  the  foreman's  wages  he's  lost. 
It's  money  that's  coming  from  an  enterprise  that  his 
brother  and  I  were  partners  in,  and  Bud  shall  have 
Dick's  share.  He's  sore  on  me  now,  and  I  can't  tell 
him.  Besides,  he'd  gamble  it  away  before  he  got  it, 
to  Buck  McKee.  Bud  isn't  strictly  ethical  in  regard  to 
money  matters,  Polly,  and  you  must  manage  the  ex- 
chequer." 

"Gee,  what  funny  big  words  you  use,  Jack!  But  I 
know  what  you  mean;  he's  too  free-handed.  Well, 
he'll  be  savin'  as  a  trade  rat  until  we  get  our  home 
paid  for.  And  I'll  manage  the  checker  business  when 
we're  married.  No  more  poker  and  keno  for  Bud. 
Thank  you,  Jack.  I  always  knew  you  was  square." 

Polly's  sincere  praise  of  his  "squareness"  was  the 
sharpest  thrust  possible  at  Payson's  guilty  conscience. 
Well,  he  resolved  to  come  as  near  being  square  and 
level  as  he  could.  He  had  told  half-truths  to  Bud  and 
Polly;  he  would  present  the  situation  to  Echo  as  a 
possible,  though  not  actual,  one.  If  Polly  were  wrong, 


The    Round-Up  59 

and  Echo  loved  him  so  much  that  she  would  break  the 
word  she  had  pledged  to  Dick  Lane,  then  he  would 
confess  all,  and  they  would  do  what  could  be  done  to 
make  it  right  with  the  discarded  lover. 

Echo,  observing  from  the  window  who  was  Polly's 
companion,  ran  out  to  Jack  with  a  cry  of  joy.  He 
looked  meaningly  at  Polly.  She  said :  "Oh,  give  me 
your  bridle;  I  know  how  many's  a  crowd."  Jack 
leaped  to  the  ground  and  took  Echo  in  his  arms  while 
Polly  rode  off  with  the  horses  to  the  corral,  singing 
significantly : 

"Spoon,  spoon,  spoon, 

While  the  dish  ran  away  with  the  spoon." 

Jack  and  Echo  embraced  clingingly  and  kissed  lin- 
geringly.  "It  takes  a  crazy  old  song  like  that  to  ex- 
press how  foolish  we  lovers  are,"  said  Jack.  "Why, 
I  feel  that  I  could  outfiddle  the  cat,  out  jump  the  cow, 
outlaugh  the  dog,  and  start  an  elopement  that  would 
knock  the  performance  of  the  tableware  as  silly  as — 
well,  as  I  am  talking  now.  I'm  living  in  a  dream — a 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  such  as  you  were  reading 
to  me." 

"The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet,"  quoted  Echo 
suggestively. 


60  The    Round-Up 

Dusk  was  falling.  From  the  bunk-house  rose  the 
tinkling  notes  of  a  mandolin;  after  a  few  preliminary 
chords,  the  player,  a  Mexican,  began  a  love-song  in 
Spanish.  The  distant  chimes  of  Mission  bells  sounded 
softly  on  the  evening  air. 

Jack  and  Echo  sat  down  upon  the  steps  of  the 
piazza.  Jack  continued  the  strain  of  his  thought,  but 
in  a  more  serious  vein : 

"Echo,  I'm  so  happy  that  I  am  frightened." 

"Frightened?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"Yes,  scared — downright  scared,"  he  answered.  "I 
reckon  I'm  like  an  Indian.  An  Indian  doesn't  believe 
it's  good  medicine  to  let  the  gods  know  he's  big  happy. 
For  there's  the  Thunder  Bird " 

"The  Thunder  Bird?" 

"The  evil  spirit  of  the  storm,"  continued  Jack. 
"When  the  Thunder  Bird  hears  a  fellow  saying  he's 
big  happy,  he  sends  him  bad  luck " 

Echo  laid  her  hand  softly  on  the  mouth  of  her 
sweetheart.  "We  won't  spoil  our  happiness,  then,  by 
talking  about  it.  We  will  just  feel  it — just  be  it." 

She  laid  her  head  upon  Jack's  knee.  He  placed 
his  arm  lightly  but  protectingly  over  her  shoulder. 
They  sat  in  silence  listening  to  the  Mexican's  love- 


TheRound-Up  61 

song.  Finally  Jack  bent  over  and  whispered  gently 
in  her  ear: 

"Softly,  so  the  Thunder  Bird  won't  hear,  Echo; 
tell  me  you  love  me;  that  you  love  only  me;  that  you 
will  always  love  me,  no  matter  what  shall  happen ;  that 
you  never  loved,  until  you  loved  me." 

Echo  sat  upright,  with  a  start.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  she  exclaimed.  "Of  course  I  love  you,  and 
you  only,  but  the  future  and  the  past  are  beyond  our 
control.  Unless  you  know  of  something  that  is  going 
to  happen  which  may  mar  our  love,  your  question  is 
silly,  not  at  all  like  your  Mother  Goose  nonsense — that 
was  dear.  And  as  for  the  past,  you  mean  Dick 
Lane." 

"Yes,  I  mean  Dick  Lane,"  confessed  Payson,  in  a 
subdued  tone.  "I  am  jealous  of  him — that  is — of  even 
his  memory." 

"That  is  not  like  Jack  Payson.  What  has  come 
over  you?  It  is  the  shadow  of  your  Thunder  Bird. 
You  know  what  my  feeling  was  for  Dick  Lane,  and 
what  it  is,  for  it  remains  the  same,  the  only  differ- 
ence being  that  now  I  know  it  never  was  love.  Even 
if  it  were,  he  is  dead,  and  I  love  you,  Jack,  you  alone. 
Oh,  how  you  shame  me  by  forcing  me  to  speak  of 


62  The    Round-Up 

such  things!  I  have  tried  to  put  poor  Dick  out  of 
my  mind,  for  every  time  I  think  of  him  it  is  with  a 
wicked  joy  that  he  is  dead,  that  he  cannot  come  home 
to  claim  me  as  his  wife.  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  I  didn't 
think  it  of  you !" 

And  the  girl  laid  her  face  within  her  hands  on  her 
lover's  knee  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  sobbing. 

Jack  Payson  shut  his  teeth. 

"Well,  since  I  have  lowered  myself  so  far  in  your 
esteem,  and  since  your  mind  is  already  sinning  against 
Dick  Lane,  we  might  as  well  go  on  and  settle  this 
matter.  I  promise  I  will  not  mention  it  again.  But 
I,  too,  have  troubles  of  the  mind.  I  am  as  I  am,  and 
you  ought  to  know  it.  I  said  I  was  jealous  of  Dick 
Lane's  memory.  It  is  more.  I  am  jealous  of  Dick 
Lane  himself.  If  he  should  return,  would  you  leave 
me  and  go  with  him — as  his  wife?" 

Again  she  sat  upright.  By  a  strong  effort  she  con- 
trolled her  sobbing. 

"The  man  I  admired  does  not  deserve  an  answer, 
but  the  child  he  has  proved  himself  to  be  and  whom  I 
cannot  help  loving,  shall  have  it.  Yes,  if  Dick  Lane 
returns  true  to  his  promise  I  shall  be  true  to  mine." 


The    Round-Up  63 

She  arose  and  went  into  the  house.  Payson  rode 
homeward  through  the  starlight  resolved  of  torment- 
ing doubt  only  to  be  consumed  by  torturing  jealousy. 
He  now  had  no  thought  of  confiding  in  Jim  Allen. 
He  regretted  that  he  had  touched  so  dangerously  near 
the  subject  of  Dick  Lane's  return  in  talking  to  Bud 
and  Polly.  His  burning  desire  was  to  be  safely  mar- 
ried to  Echo  Allen  before  the  inevitable  return  of  her 
former  lover. 

"Fool  that  I  was  not  to  ask  her  one  more  question : 
Would  she  forgive  her  husband  where  she  would  not 
forgive  her  lover?  What  will  she  think  of  me  when 
all  is  discovered,  as  it  surely  will  be?  Well,  I  must 
take  my  chances.  Events  will  decide." 

On  his  return  to  Sweetwater  Ranch  he  put  the  place 
in  charge  of  his  new  foreman,  Sage-brush  Charlie, 
and  went  out  to  a  hunting-cabin  he  had  built  in  the 
Tortilla  Mountains.  Here  he  fought  the  problem 
over  with  his  conscience — and  his  selfishness  won.  He 
returned,  fixed  in  his  decision  to  suppress  Dick  Lane's 
letter,  and  to  go  ahead  with  the  marriage. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Hold-up. 

Riding  hard  into  Florence  from  Sweetwater  Rancx 
Bud  Lane  hunted  up  Buck  McKee  at  his  favorite 
gambling- joint,  and,  in  a  white  heat  of  indignation, 
informed  him  in  detail  of  everything  that  had  passed 
between  Payson  and  himself.  At  once  McKee  in- 
ferred that  the  writer  of  the  letter  was  none  other 
than  Dick  Lane.  Realizing  that  Payson  was  already 
informed  of  his  villainy,  and  that  in  a  very  short  time 
Dick  Lane  himself  would  make  his  appearance  on  the 
Sweetwater,  the  half-breed  concluded  to  make  a  bold 
move  while  he  yet  retained  the  confidence  of  Bud. 

"Bud,"  he  said,  "I  know  the  man  who  is  sendin' 
the  money  to  Payson.  It's  Dick,  your  brother." 

"But,"  stammered  Bud,  his  brain  whirling,  "but  if 
that's  so,  you  lied  about  the  Apaches  killing  him — and 
you — why  you — must  have  been  the  renegade,  the 
devil  who  tortured  prospectors." 

"Why,  Bud,  Dick  never  wrote  all  that  dime-novel 
nonsense  about  the  man  who  stood  by  him  to — well, 


The   Round-Up  65 

not  the  very  last,  for  Dick  has  managed  somehow  to 
pull  through — probably  he  was  saved  by  the  Rurales 
that  were  chasin'  the  band  that  rounded  us  up.  No, 
it's  Payson,  Jack  Payson,  that  made  up  that  pack  of 
lies,  just  to  keep  you  away  from  me,  the  man  that  was 
last  with  Dick  and  so  may  get  on  to  Jack's  game  and 
block  it." 

"Game!  what  game?"  asked  Bud,  bewildered. 

"Why,  you  told  me  it  yourself — to  marry  Dick's 
girl,  and  live  on  Dick's  hard-earned  money." 

"But  Dick  borrowed  the  three  thousand  of  Jack," 
objected  Bud. 

"Well,  the  dollars  he  borrowed  have  all  gone,  ain't 
they?  And  the  money  he's  sendin'  back  Dick  dug 
out  of  the  ground  by  hard  work,  didn't  he?  Least- 
ways, Payson  hadn't  ort  'o  use  the  money  to  rope  in 
Dick's  girl.  It  ort  'o  be  kep'  from  him,  anyhow,  till 
Dick  comes  on  the  ground  his  own  self.  That  Vd 
hold  up  the  weddin',  all  right,  if  I  know  Josephine. 
It  'u'd  be  easy  to  steer  her  into  refusin'  to  let  Echo 
go  into  a  mortgiged  home." 

Simple-minded  Bud  readily  accepted  the  wily  half- 
breed's  explanations  and  surmises,  and  fell  into  the 
trap  he  was  preparing.  This  was  to  hold  up  the  ex- 


66  The    Round-Up 

press-agent  and  rob  him  of  the  money  Pay  son  was 
expecting,  on  securing  which  it  was  McKee's  inten- 
tion to  flee  the  country  before  Dick  Lane  returned  to 
denounce  him.  To  ascertain  just  when  the  money 
came  into  the  agent's  hands,  and  to  act  as  a  cover  in 
the  robbery  itself,  an  accomplice  was  needed.  For 
this  purpose  no  man  in  all  the  Sweetwater  region  was 
better  adapted  than  Bud  Lane.  Frank  and  friendly 
with  every  one,  he  would  be  trusted  by  the  most  sus- 
picious and  cautious  official  in  Final  County.  The 
fact  that  he  had  chosen  Buck  McKee  as  an  associate 
had  already  gone  far  to  rehabilitate  this  former  "bad 
man"  in  the  good  graces  of  the  community.  Under 
cover  of  this  friendship,  McKee  hoped  to  escape  sus- 
picion of  any  part  in  the  homicide  he  contemplated. 

For  it  was  murder,  foul,  unprovoked  murder,  that 
was  in  the  black  soul  of  the  half-breed.  He  intended 
to  incriminate  Bud  so  deeply  as  to  put  it  beyond  all 
thought  that  he  would  confess. 

Young  Lane,  passionately  loyal  to  his  brother,  was 
ready  for  anything  that  would  delay  Payson's  mar- 
riage to  Echo  Allen.  Together  with  the  wild  joy 
that  sprang  up  in  his  heart  at  the  thought  that  his 
brother  was  alive,  was  entwined  a  violent  hatred 


TheRound-Up  67 

against  his  former  employer.  In  the  fierce  turbulence 
within  his  soul,  generated  by  the  meeting  of  these 
great  emotions,  he  was  impelled  to  enter  upon  a  mad 
debauch,  in  which  McKee  abetted  and  joined  him. 
Filling  up  on  bad  whisky,  they  rode  through  the 
streets  of  Florence,  yelling  and  shooting  their  "guns" 
like  crazy  men.  It  was  while  they  were  engaged  in 
this  spectacular  exhibition  of  horsemanship,  gun-play, 
and  vocalization  that  Bud's  sweetheart  rode  into  town 
to  execute  some  commissions  in  preparation  for  Echo 
Allen's  wedding.  Already  "blue"  over  the  thought 
that  her  own  wedding  was  far  in  the  dim  future,  poor 
Polly  was  cast  into  the  depths  of  despair  and  dis- 
gust by  the  drunken  riot  in  which  her  prospective 
husband  was  indulging  with  her  particular  aversion, 
the  cruel,  calf-torturing  half-breed,  McKee.  Thor- 
oughly mortified,  she  slipped  out  of  town  by  a  side 
street,  and  moodily  rode  back  to  Allen  Hacienda,  meet- 
ing on  the  way,  as  we  have  seen,  Jack  Payson. 

After  the  debauch  was  over,  and  the  merry,  mad 
devil  of  nervous  excitement  was  succeeded  by  the 
brooding  demon  of  nervous  depression,  McKee 
broached  to  Bwd  the  idea  of  robbing  the  express- 
agent  of  the  money  coming  to  Payson.  This  fell  in 


68 


The   Ro  und~  Up 


readily  with  the  young  man's  revengeful  mood,  and 
he  unreservedly  placed  himself  under  the  half-breed's 
orders. 

In  accordance  with  these,  Bud  hung  about  the  rail- 
road-station a  great  deal,  cultivating  the  friendship 
of  Terrill,  the  agent.  "Ole  Man"  Terrill,  as  he  was 
called,  although  he  was  a  vigorous  specimen  of  man- 
hood on  the  under  side  of  sixty,  was  ticket  and  freight- 
agent,  express-messenger,  and  telegraph-operator,  in 
fact,  the  entire  Bureau  of  Transportation  and  Com- 
munication at  Florence  station.  Bud  frankly  told 
him  he  was  out  of  a  job,  and  had,  indeed,  decided,  in 
view  of  his  coming  marriage,  to  give  up  horse- 
wrangling  for  some  vocation  of  a  more  elevating 
character.  So  Terrill  let  him  help  about  the  station, 
chiefly  in  the  clerical  work.  While  so  engaged  Bud 
learned  that  a  package  valued  at  three  thousand  dol- 
lars was  expected  upon  a  certain  train.  Although  no 
consignee  was  mentioned,  the  fact  that  the  amount 
tallied  exactly  with  the  sum  Payson  was  expecting 
caused  him  to  conclude  it  was  Dick's  repayment  of 
his  loan.  Accordingly  he  informed  McKee  that  the 
time  they  were  awaiting  had  arrived. 


The   Round- Up  6$> 

Florence  had  grown  up  as  a  settlement  about  a 
spring  of  water  some  time  before  the  advent  of  the 
railroad.  Builders  of  the  line  got  into  trouble  with 
the  inhabitants,  and  in  revenge  located  the  station  half 
a  mile  away  from  the  spring,  thinking  new  settlers 
would  come  to  them.  In  this  they  were  disappointed. 
The  point  was  an  isolated  one,  and  the  station  a  de- 
serted spot  between  trains. 

Eastward  and  westward  the  single  track  of  railroad 
drifted  to  shimmering  points  on  the  horizon.  To  the 
south  dreary  wastes  of  sand,  glistening  white  under 
the  burnished  sun  and  crowned  with  chumps  of  gray- 
ish green  sage-brush,  stretched  to  an  encircling  rim 
of  hills.  Cacti  and  yucca  palms  broke  the  monotony 
of  the  roll  of  the  plains  to  the  uplands. 

Sahuaroes  towered  over  the  low  station,  which  was 
built  in  the  style  of  the  old  Spanish  missions.  Its  red 
roof  flared  above  the  purple  shadows  cast  by  its  walls. 
In  the  fathomless  blue  above  a  buzzard  sailed  ma- 
jestically down  an  air  current,  and  hovered  motionless 
over  the  lonely  outpost  of  civilization. 

Within  the  station  a  telegraph-sounder  chattered  and 
chirruped.  "Ole  Man"  Terrill  was  at  the  instrument. 
His  duties  were  over  for  the  forenoon,  the  east-bound 


70  The   Round-Up 

express,  which,  with  the  west-bound,  composed  the 
only  trains  that  traversed  that  section  of  the  road  each 
day,  having  arrived  and  departed  a  half-hour  before, 
and  he  had  cut  in  on  the  line  to  regale  himself  with 
the  news  of  the  world.  But  there  was  a  dearth  of 
thrilling  events,  such  as  his  rude  soul  delighted  in. 
The  Apache  uprising,  that  was  feared,  had  not  taken 
place.  Colonel  Hardie,  of  Fort  Grant,  had  the  situa- 
tion well  in  hand.  The  Nihilists  were  giving  their 
latest  czar  a  breathing-spell.  No  new  prize-fighter  had 
arisen  to  wrest  the  championship  of  the  world  from 
John  Sullivan,  who  had  put  all  his  old  rivals  "to  sleep." 
"Ole  Man"  Terrill  proceeded  to  follow  their  example. 
He  had  been  up  late  the  night  before  at  a  poker  game. 
His  head  fell  forward  with  a  jerk.  Aroused  by  the 
shock,  he  glanced  drowsily  about  him.  Heat-waves 
danced  before  the  open  window.  Deep  silence  hung 
over  his  little  world.  Again  his  eyelids  closed;  his 
head  dropped,  and  slowly  he  slipped  into  sleep. 

Tragedy  was  approaching  him  now,  but  not  along 
the  wire.  Down  an  arroyo,  or  "draw"  (the  dry  bed 
of  a  watercourse),  that  wound  in  a  detour  around  the 
town  of  Florence,  and  debouched  into  the  open  plain 
near  the  station,  crept  two  men  in  single  file,  each 


TheRound-Up  7* 

leading  a  horse.  They  were  Buck  McKee  and  Bud 
Lane,  who  had  ridden  north  from  the  town  that 
morning  with  the  declared  purpose  of  going  to  Buck's 
old  ranch,  the  Lazy  K.  They  had  circled  about  the 
town,  timing  their  arrival  at  the  station  a  little  after 
the  departure  of  the  train  which  was  expected  to  bring 
Dick  Lane's  money. 

McKee  emerged  first  from  the  mouth  of  the  draw. 
He  wore  a  coarse  flannel  shirt,  loosened  at  the  throat. 
About  his  neck  was  a  handkerchief.  His  riding-over- 
alls were  tucked  into  high  boots  with  Spanish  heels 
and  long  spurs.  A  Mexican  hat  with  a  bead  band 
topped  a  head  covered  with  coarse  black  hair,  which 
he  inherited  from  his  Cherokee  mother. 

Save  for  the  vulture  floating  high  in  air  not  a  liv- 
ing thing  was  in  sight.  With  the  caution  of  a  coyote, 
McKee  crept  to  the  station  door  and  peered  blinkingly 
through  the  open  door  into  the  room.  The  change 
from  the  dazzling  light  without  to  the  shaded  interior 
blinded  him  for  a  moment.  He  heard  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  sleeper  before  he  saw  him. 

Returning  to  the  mouth  of  the  arroyo,  McKee  mo- 
tioned to  his  companion  to  bring  out  the  horses. 
When  this  was  done,  the  two  men  cinched  the  sad- 


72  The   Round-Up 

dies  and  made  every  preparation  for  sudden  flight. 
Lane  and  the  horses  remained  outside  the  station  be- 
hind a  freight-car  on  a  siding,  while  McKee  stole 
softly  through  the  open  door  to  "Ole  Man"  Terrill's 
side. 

Now,  the  agent  used  as  a  safe-deposit  vault  his  in- 
side waistcoat  pocket,  the  lock  upon  which  was  a  huge 
safety-pin.  For  further  defense  he  carried  a  revolver, 
loosely  hung  at  his  hip,  and  easily  reached.  His 
quickness  on  the  draw  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  his  ac- 
curacy of  aim  made  him  a  formidable  antagonist. 

Some  men  are  born  into  the  world  to  become  its 
watch-dogs;  others  to  become  its  wolves.  The  pres- 
ence of  a  human  wolf  is,  as  it  were,  scented  by  the  hu- 
man watch-dog,  even  when  the  dog  is  asleep.  McKee 
was  known  instinctively  as  a  man-wolf  to  the  born 
guardians  of  society ;  Slim  Hoover,  himself  a  high  type 
of  the  man-mastiff,  used  to  say  of  the  half-breed: 
"I  can  smell  that  b'ar-grease  he  slicks  his  hair  with 
agin'  the  wind.  He  may  be  out  o'  sight  an'  out  o' 
mind,  when  somethin'  tells  me  'McKee's  around' ;  then 
I  smell  b'ar-grease,  and  the  next  thing,  Bucky  shows 
up  with  his  ingrasheatin'  grin.  It's  alluz  'grease  be- 
fore meet,'  as  the  Sky  Pilot  would  say." 


The   Round-Up  ft 

"(Die  Man"  Terrill  was  of  the  watch-dog  breed. 
Whether  warned  by  the  instinct  of  his  kind  or  wakened 
by  the  scent  of  McKee's  bear-grease,  he  suddenly 
opened  his  eyes.  Like  all  men  accustomed  to  emer- 
gencies, he  was  instantly  in  full  possession  of  his  wits, 
yet  he  pretended  to  be  slightly  confused  in  order  to 
get  a  grasp  upon  the  situation  before  greeting  his 
visitor. 

"Howdy,  Buck,"  he  said,  adjusting  his  revolver  as 
he  swung  half-round  in  his  chair,  that  he  might  reach 
his  weapon  more  readily  in  an  emergency.  "Bustin' 
or  busted?" 

"Well,  I'm  about  even  with  the  game,"  replied  Mc- 
Kee,  pulling  from  his  pocket  a  bag  of  tobacco  and 
papers,  and  deftly  rolling  a  butterfly  cigarette.  "Coin' 
to  shake  it  before  I  lose  my  pile.  It's  me  for  the 
Lazy  K.  Dropped  in  to  say  good-by." 

Terrill,  who  had  recently  had  an  expensive  seance 
with  McKee  at  poker,  remonstrated: 

"Yuh  ought  'o  give  me  another  chanct  at  yuh, 
Buck.  Yo're  goin'  away  with  too  much  of  my 
money." 

"Well,  'Ole  Man,'  I'm  likely  to  rob  yuh  of  a  lot 
more  ef  you  ain't  keerful,"  answered  McKee. 


74  The   Round-Up 

"Yuh  can't  jest  yit  a  while,"  said  Terrill.  "Dead 
broke." 

"Aw,  come  off!  everybody  knows  ye're  a  walkin' 
bank.  Bet  yuh  got  three  thousan'  in  that  inside  pocket 
o'  your'n  this  minute." 

Terrill  started  at  McKee's  naming  the  exact  amount 
he  was  carrying.  He  forgot  his  customary  caution 
in  his  surprise.  "Well,  you  did  just  hit  it,  shore 
enough.  I  believe  ye're  half -gipsy  instid  o'  half- 
Injun.  Jes'  like  yer  knowin'  I  stood  pat  on  four  uv 
a  kind  when  you  had  aces  full,  and  throwin'  down 
yer  cyards  'fore  I  c'u'd  git  even  with  yuh.  How  do 
yuh  do  it,  Buck?" 

McKee  gave  a  smile  of  cunning,  inscrutable  superi- 
ority. "Oh,  it's  jes'  a  power  I  has.  'Keen  sabby,' 
as  the  Greasers  say — I'm  keen  on  the  know  how. 
Why,  I  kin  tell  yuh  more  about  the  money.  It's  fer 
Jack  Payson — •— " 

"Now,  there's  whur  ye're  way  off  as  a  cleervoyant, 
Buck,"  said  Terrill  triumphantly.  "Yuh  guessed  oncet 
too  often,  as  yer  old  pard  on  the  Lazy  K  said  to  the 
druggist.  'Peruna?'  ast  the  druggist.  'Yep,'  said 
yer  pard.  'Beginnin'  mild  on  a  new  jag?'  ast  the 
druggist  a  second  time.  'Hell,  no !'  said  yer  pard  they 


TheRound-Up  75 

calls  Peruna  now  from  the  in-sih-dent,  'ending  up 
strong  on  an  old  one.'  Nope,  the  three  thousan'  is 
county  money,  consigned  to  Sheriff  Hoover.  Jack 
Payson  has  jes'  lef  with  a  package  from  K.  C,  but 
it  wasn't  money.  It  was  a  purty,  gilt  chair — a  wed- 
din'-present  fer  the  gal  he's  go'n'  to  marry." 

At  that  moment  the  sounder  of  the  telegraph  be- 
gan clicking  the  call  of  the  station.  Terrill  whirled 
about  in  his  swivel-chair  and  faced  the  table. 

McKee  stood  close  behind  him.  His  lips  twitched 
nervously.  His  eyes  narrowed  as  he  watched  every 
movement  of  the  agent's  big  shoulders  as  he  operated 
the  key.  At  the  same  time  the  half-breed  drew  his 
revolver  and  covered  the  back  of  Terrill's  head. 

The  agent  completed  his  message  and  turned  to 
continue  his  interrupted  conversation.  He  found  him- 
self gazing  into  the  muzzle  of  a  .44,  big,  it  seemed, 
as  a  thirteen-inch  gun.  "Why — what?"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"I'm  actin'  jes'  now  as  Slim's  deppity,"  said  Mc- 
Kee. "Unbutton  an'  han'  that  money  over." 

Once  having  his  victim  in  his  power,  all  the  innate 
cruelty  of  the  Indian  blood  of  his  maternal  ancestors 
flashed  to  the  surface.  Terrill  was  at  his  mercy.  For 


76  The   Round-Up 

one  desperate  moment  he  would  play  with  him;  even 
torture  him  as  his  forefathers  had  once  made  misera- 
ble the  last  moments  of  a  captive.  He  knew  that  un- 
less he  silenced  Terrill  his  life  must  pay  the  forfeit. 
Death  was  the  penalty  of  detection.  The  arm  of 
the  express  company  was  long.  Ultimate  capture  was 
certain.  Pursued  out  of  Arizona  by  the  sheriff,  he 
would  be  trailed  through  every  camp  and  town  in  the 
far  West. 

With  an  oath,  Terrill  tried  to  rise  and  face  his  an- 
tagonist, reaching  for  his  revolver  as  he  did  so.  The 
butt  of  his  weapon  had  caught  in  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
hampering  his  movements. 

McKee  threw  him  roughly  back  into  the  chair. 

"Throw  up  your  han's,"  he  cried.    "Don't  try  that." 

Up  went  Terrill's  hands  high  over  his  head.  He 
faced  the  open  window.  Not  a  sign  of  help  was  in 
sight. 

Quickly  the  agent  turned  over  in  his  mind  various 
schemes  to  foil  McKee,  who  now  stood  behind  him 
with  the  muzzle  of  his  revolver  pressing  into  the  mid- 
dle of  his  back.  Each  was  rejected  before  half-con- 
ceived. 


TheRound-Up  77 

McKee  laughed  sneeringly,  saying :  "You  oughtn't 
to  be  so  keerless  to  show  where  you  cache  your  roll. 
Worse  than  a  senorita  with  a  stocking.  She  never 
keeps  a  whole  pair  when  Manuel  is  playing  faro." 

Terrill  made  no  reply.  His  hope  of  escape  was 
slowly  fading. 

McKee  had  reached  his  left  hand  over  his  pris- 
oner's shoulder  to  disarm  Terrill,  who  moved  slightly 
away  from  him,  drawing  in  his  feet  as  he  did  so. 

One  chance  had  come  to  him.  He  knew  that,  if  he 
failed,  death  was  certain,  yet  he  determined  to  take  the 
risk  in  order  to  retrieve  the  slip  he  had  made  in  admit- 
ting that  he  had  money  in  his  possession  to  a  gambling 
crony;  and  so  to  keep  clean  his  record  for  trustiness, 
of  which  he  was  so  proud.  This  last  desperate  resource 
was  an  old  wrestler's  trick;  one  with  which  he  had 
conquered  others  in  the  rough  games  of  the  corral. 

Again  Terrill  moved  to  the  right  and  farther  un- 
der McKee,  who  had  to  extend  his  arm  and  body  far 
beyond   an   upright   position.     Holding   his   revolver 
against  Terrill  handicapped  the  half-breed  in  his  move 
ments. 

With  a  quick  turn,  Terrill  grasped  McKee's  left  arm, 
Jerking  it  down  sharply  on  his  shoulder.  \Vith  his 


78  TheRound-Up 

right  hand  he  grasped  the  back  of  his  antagonist's 
neck,  pulling  his  head  downward  and  inward.  Using 
his  shoulder  for  a  fulcrum,  with  a  mighty  heave  of 
his  legs  and  back  he  sought  to  toss  McKee  over  his 
head. 

So  surprised  for  an  instant  was  the  cowboy  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  attack  that  he  made  no  effort  to 
escape  the  clutches  of  the  desperate  express-agent. 

His  feet  had  left  the  floor,  and  he  was  swinging  in 
the  air  before  his  finger  pressed  the  trigger. 

There  was  a  muffled  report. 

The  two  men  fell  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  McKee  on 
top.  Dazed  and  shaken,  McKee  scrambled  to  his 
feet.  The  air  was  pungent  with  odor  of  powder 
smoke.  Terrill  rolled  over  on  his  side,  trembled  con- 
vulsively, and  died.  He  had  paid  the  penalty  for  a 
moment's  indiscretion  with  his  life. 

McKee  quickly  unfastened  the  pin  and  seized  the 
roll  of  bills.  Skimming  through  the  package,  he 
smiled  with  satisfaction  to  see  that  the  most  of  it  was 
in  small  bills,  and  none  of  them  stained. 

Carefully  avoiding  the  fast-forming  pool  of  blood 
which  was  oozing  from  the  hole  in  the  dead  man's 
head,  he  hurried  to  the  door. 


TheRound-Up  79 

A  glance  showed  him  the  coast  was  clear.  Run- 
ning across  the  tracks,  he  joined  Lane,  who  was  wait- 
ing for  him  behind  the  freight-car  with  impatience. 
In  silence  they  mounted  their  horses.  For  a  short  dis- 
tance McKee  led  the  way  upon  the  railroad-track,  in 
order  to  leave  no  hoof-prints,  and  then  struck  across 
the  desert  toward  the  hills  in  the  south. 

"Why  did  you  shoot?"  gasped  Lane. 

"He  drew  on  me,"  snarled  McKee.  "It  wasn't 
Dick's  money,  but  you'll  get  half.  Shut  up." 

The  burning  sun  rose  higher  and  higher.  The 
buzzard  dropped  lower  in  the  sky.  The  silence  of 
death  brooded  over  the  railroad-station. 


CHAPTER  V. 
Hoover  Bows  to  Hymen. 

Unknown  to  Bud  Lane  and  Buck  McKee,  who  were 
rioting  in  Florence,  Jack  Payson  had  hurried  up  the 
wedding.  Colonel  Jim  had  wheedled  Josephine  into 
consenting  that  it  should  take  place  two  months  ahead 
of  the  time  that  had  been  fixed,  "April  is  the  month 
fer  showers,  Josie,  an'  we'll  let  you  weep  all  you 
please." 

Two  weeks'  notice,  however,  gave  scant  time  for 
preparation  for  the  important  ceremony  that  Mrs. 
Allen  deemed  necessary.  During  this  period  the 
busiest  spot  in  Arizona  was  the  kitchen  of  Allen  Hac- 
ienda. An  immense  cake,  big  as  a  cheese,  was  the 
crowning  effort  of  Josephine,  who  wept  copiously  at 
the  thought  of  losing  her  daughter  as  she  measured 
and  mixed  the  ingredients.  A  layer  of  frosting  an 
inch  in  thickness  encrusted  this  masterpiece  of  the  art 
of  pastry-making.  Topping  the  creation  were  mani- 
kins of  a  bride  and  bridegroom. 


The   Round-Up  Bi 

This  climax  of  the  bridal-cake  had  been  brought 
up  by  wagon  from  Tucson  with  more  caution  than  if  it 
were  a  month's  clean-up  of  a  paying  mine.  Mrs.  Allen 
permitted  no  one  to  go  near  the  artistic  achievement 
Others  might  look  at  it  from  afar,  but  at  the  slightest 
movement  to  get  close  to  it,  she  would  push  the  ob- 
server back,  with  the  warning:  "Keep  yer  dirty  fin- 
gers offn  it.  'Tain't  common  icin';  that's  confection- 
ary." 

Enough  chickens  to  feed  a  darky  camp-meeting  were 
killed  for  the  feast.  Fried,  roasted,  cold  or  minced 
as  tamales,  the  dishes  filled  ovens  and  tables,  and  over- 
flowed into  the  spring-house.  Favorite  recipes  car- 
ried across  the  plains  by  the  wives  of  the  Argonauts 
met  in  rivalry  with  the  dishes  of  the  cooks  of  old 
Mexico. 

Colonel  Allen  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  ranch, 
while  the  preparations  for  the  feast  were  in  progress. 
The  women  folk  drove  him  from  one  favorite  loafing- 
place  to  another.  His  advice  was  scorned  and  his 
wishes  made  a  subject  for  jests. 

Defiantly  he  had  taken  full  charge  of  the  liquid  re- 
freshments. A  friendly  barkeeper  in  Tucson,  acting 
under  his  orders,  had  shipped  to  him  cases  of  chan> 


82  The   Round-Up 

pagne,  a  barrel  of  beer,  and  a  siphon  of  seltzer.  Why 
the  seltzer  he  never  could  explain.  Later  the  unlucky 
bottle  marred  the  supper  and  nearly  caused  a  tragedy. 
A  guest  picked  it  up  and  peered  into  the  metal  tube 
to  see  "how  the  durned  thing  worked." 

As  he  gazed  and  pondered,  shaking  the  bottle  in  his 
effort  to  solve  the  mystery,  he  pressed  the  handle. 
The  stream  struck  him  fairly  between  the  eyes. 
Shocked,  surprised,  and  half-blinded,  he  pulled  his  gun 
and  declared  immediate  war  on  the  "sheep-herder  who 
had  put  up  the  job  on  him."  Allen's  other  supplies 
were  of  the  kind  taken  straight  in  the  Southwest,  and 
downed  with  a  hasty  gulp. 

Driven  from  the  house  on  the  day  of  the  wedding, 
he  took  refuge  on  the  piazza.  From  behind  the  hac- 
ienda floated  dreamily  on  the  sun-drenched  air  the 
music  of  guitars  and  mandolins  played  by  Mexicans, 
practising  for  the  dance  which  would  follow  the  cere- 
mony. 

The  Colonel  dozed  and  dreamed. 

Suddenly  the  peace  of  the  afternoon  was  shattered 
by  the  wild  "yip-yips"  of  a  band  of  cowboys,  riding 
up  the  trail.  Revolver-shots  punctuated  their  shrill 
cries. 


The   Round- Up  83 

Allen  bounded  from  his  chair,  shaking  himself  like 
a  terrier.  This  riotous  sound  was  the  music  he  longed 
to  hear. 

When  the  staccato  beats  of  the  ponies'  hoofs  ceased, 
he  shouted:  "Come  on,  boys,  make  this  your  home. 
Everything  goes,  and  the  Sweetwater  outfit  is  always 
welcome." 

The  foreman  was  the  first  to  pull  up  in  front  of  the 
house.  "Hullo,  Uncle  Jim!"  he  cried. 

"Hello,  Sage-brush,"  answered  the  Colonel,  a  broad 
smile  illuminating  his  face.  Holding  his  pipe  in  one 
hand,  he  licked  his  lips  at  the  thought  of  "lickering 
up"  without  the  invention  of  an  excuse  for  his  wife. 
Then  he  joined  in  a  hearty  laugh  with  the  men  about 
the  corral  as  he  heard  the  grunts  and  stamping  of  a 
plunging  mustang.  A  cow-pony  had  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion  and  was  trying  to  toss  his  rider 
over  his  head. 

Fresno  was  the  victim  of  the  horse's  deviltry. 

His  predicament  aroused  wild  shouts  of  mirth  and 
sallies  of  the  wit  of  the  corral. 

"Hunt  leather,  Fresno,  or  he'll  buck  you  clean  over 
the  wall,"  shouted  Sage-brush. 

"Grab  his  tail,"  yelled  Show  Low,  with  a  whoop. 


»4  The   Round-Up 

"AD  over,"  was  the  chorus,  as  Fresno,  with  a 
vicious  jab  of  his  spurs  and  a  jerk  of  the  head,  brought 
the  animal  into  subjection. 

"Come  right  in,  boys,"  called  Allen.  "Let  the  Greas- 
ers take  the  hosses." 

With  shrill  shouts,  whoops,  and  much  laughter  the 
guests  crowded  about  the  ranchman. 

Each  wore  his  holiday  clothes;  new  handkerchiefs 
were  knotted  about  their  necks.  Fresno  had  stuck 
little  American  flags  in  the  band  of  his  hat,  the  crown 
of  which  he  had  removed.  "I  want  head-room  for 
the  morning  after,"  he  had  said. 

Show  Low's  chaps  were  conspicuously  new,  and  his 
movements  were  heralded  by  the  creaking  of  unsoft- 
ened  leather. 

Last  of  the  band  was  Parenthesis,  short,  bow- 
legged,  with  a  face  tanned  and  seamed  by  exposure. 
The  cowboys  ran  stiffly,  toeing  slightly  inward.  Long 
hours  in  the  saddle  made  them  apparently  awkward 
and  really  ungraceful  when  on  the  ground. 

They  greeted  Allen  with  hearty  enthusiasm,  slap- 
ping him  on  the  back,  poking  him  in  the  ribs,  and 
swinging  him  from  one  to  the  other,  with  cries  of: 
"Howdy,  Uncle  Jim!" 


The   Round-Up  85 

"Howdy,  Sage-brush  ?  Hello,  Fresno !  Waltz  right 
in,  Show  Low.  Glad  to  see  you  all!"  cried  Allen, 
as  he,  in  turn,  brought  his  hand  down  with  ringing 
slaps  upon  shoulder  and  back. 

Meantime  Parenthesis  hopped  about  the  outer  edge 
of  the  ring,  seeking  an  entrance.  Failing  to  reach 
his  host,  he  crowed :  "How  de  doddle  do,"  to  attract 
his  attention. 

Allen  broke  from  the  ring.  Grasping  Parenthesis 
by  the  hand,  he  said :  "I'm  tolerable,  thankee,  Paren- 
thesis. Where's  Jack? — didn't  he  come  over  with 
you?" 

"What!  the  boss?  Ain't  he  got  here  yet?"  asked 
the  foreman.  Tall  and  lean,  with  hardened  muscles, 
Sage-brush  Charley  was  as  lithe  as  a  panther  on  horse- 
back. His  first  toy  had  been  a  rope  with  which,  as  a 
toddler,  he  had  practised  on  the  dogs  and  chickens 
about  the  ranch-yard.  He  could  not  remember  when 
he  could  not  ride.  Days  on  the  round-up,  hours  of 
watching  the  sleeping  herd  in  the  night-watch,  had 
made  him  quiet  and  self-contained  in  his  dealings  with 
men.  His  eyes  looked  out  fearlessly  on  the  world. 
All  of  his  life  he  had  handled  cattle.  Daily  facing 
dangers  on  the  long  drives  or  in  the  corral,  he  schooled 


86  The   Round-Up 

himself  to  face  emergencies.  Acquiring  self-control, 
he  was  trusted  and  admired.  When  Lyman,  the  old 
foreman  of  the  Sweetwater,  resigned,  Jack  Payson 
promoted  Sage-brush,  although  next  to  Bud  Lane  he 
was  at  the  time  the  youngest  man  in  the  outfit.  He 
made  his  employer's  interests  his  own.  At  the  men- 
tion of  Payson's  name  he  always  became  attentive. 
With  a  shade  of  anxiety  he  awaited  Allen's  an- 
swer. 

"No,"  replied  the  ranchman,  looking  from  one  of 
his  guests  to  the  other. 

"Why,  he  started  three  hours  ahead  of  us!"  ex- 
plained Parenthesis. 

With  a  challenging  note  in  his  tones,  as  if  his  word 
was  disputed,  the  host  answered:  "Well,  he  ain't 
showed  up." 

The  little  group  had  become  silent.  Arizona  was 
in  a  period  of  unrest.  Rumors  of  another  Apache  up- 
rising were  growing  stronger  each  day.  Then  Pay- 
son  was  successful,  and,  therefore,  despised  by  less 
fortunate  men  ever  eager  for  a  quarrel. 

After  a  moment's  thought.  Sage-brush  brushed 
aside  his  fears  and  brightened  up  his  comrades  with 


The   Round-Up  87 

the  remark:  "Mebbe  he  rid  over  to  Florence  station 
to  get  a  present  for  Miss  Echo.  He  said  somethin' 
about  gettin'  an  artickle  from  Kansas  City." 

"Mebbe  so,"  agreed  Allen,  eager  to  cast  out  any 
forebodings.  "It's  time,"  he  continued,  "he  wuz 
turnin'  up,  if  this  weddin's  to  be  pulled  off  by  the 
clock." 

"Has  the  Sky  Pilot  got  here  yet?"  asked  Sage- 
brush. 

"No,"  replied  Allen.  "He's  started,  though.  There's 
one  thing  sartin,  we  can't  tighten  up  the  cinches  till 
the  bridegroom  gits  here." 

The  absence  of  Jack  Payson  and  the  failure  of  the 
minister  to  arrive  aroused  the  suspicions  of  Sage- 
brush. Coming  closer  to  Allen,  he  smiled  knowingly, 
and,  speaking  in  a  confidential  tone,  asked: 

"Say,  Jim,  they  ain't  figgerin'  on  gittin'  away  on 
the  sly-like,  are  they?" 

Show  Low  interrupted  with  the  explanation:  "You 
see,  we're  goin'  to  decorate  the  wagon  some." 

The  suggestion  that  any  one  connected  with  Allen 
Hacienda  would  ride  in  anything  on  wheels,  except  the 
driver  of  the  chuck-wagon  on  the  round-up,  aroused 
the  indignation  of  the  old  cattleman.  For  him  the 


88  The  Round-Up 

only  use  to  which  a  wheeled  vehicle  drawn  by  a  horse 
should  be  put  was  to  haul  materials  that  could  not 
be  packed  on  a  horse. 

"They  ain't  usin*  any  wagon!"  he  fairly  shouted; 
"they're  goin'  away  in  the  leather." 

The  idea  of  carrying  out  the  traditions  of  the  horse 
in  Final  County  even  to  a  wedding- journey  tickled 
the  boys  immensely. 

Slapping  one  another  on  the  back  and  nodding  their 
heads  in  approbation,  they  shouted:  "That's  the 
ticket.  Hooray !" 

"This  ain't  no  New  York  idea,  where  the  bride  an* 
groom  hits  the  life-trail  in  a  hired  hack,"  cried  Fresno. 

Allen's  feelings  apparently  were  not  yet  fully 
soothed.  Turning  to  Sage-brush,  he  said:  "Wheels 
don't  go  in  my  family.  Why,  her  ma  and  me  were 
married  on  hossback.  The  preacher  had  to  make  a 
hurry  job  of  it,  but  it  took." 

"Hush,  now,"  was  Parenthesis'  awed  comment. 

"For  her  pop  was  a-chasin'  us,  and  kept  it  up  for 
twenty  miles  after  the  parson  said  'Amen.' ' 

"Did  he  ketch  you?"  asked  Fresno,  with  great  seri- 
ousness. 


The   Round-Up  89 

"He  sure  did,"  answered  Allen,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "an'  thanked  me  for  takin'  Josephine  off  his 
hands." 

The  boys  laughed.  The  joke  was  upon  themselves, 
as  they  had  expected  to  hear  a  romantic  story  of 
earlier  days. 

When  the  laughter  had  subsided,  Show  Low  sug- 
gested: "If  we  can't  decorate  the  wagon,  let's  put 
some  fixin's  on  the  ponies." 

The  proposal  was  received  with  more  whoops,  shout- 
ing, and  yipping.  They  waltzed  about  the  smiling 
rancher. 

"That's  what!"   cried    Sage-brush   enthusiastically. 

Allen  grew  sarcastic,  remarking:  "I  reckon  you- 
all  must  have  stopped  some  time  at  the  water-tank." 

Renewed  laughter  greeted  this  sally. 

"This  is  my  first  wedding,"  explained  Sage-brush, 
rather  apologetically. 

"I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed  Allen,  in  surprise. 

"I'm  tellin'  you.  I  never  seed  a  weddin'  in  all  my 
life,"  replied  Sage-brush,  as  seriously  as  if  he  was 
denying  a  false  accusation  of  a  serious  crime.  "Mother 
used  to  tell  me  about  her'n,  an'  I  often  wisht  I  had 
been  there." 


90  The   Round-Up 

Fresno  shouted  with  amusement.  He  had  Sage- 
brush rattled.  The  coolest  man  on  the  range  was 
flustered  by  the  mere  thought  of  attending  a  wedding- 
ceremony. 

"He's  plum  locoed  over  this  one.  Ain't  you,  Sage- 
brush?" he  drawled  tauntingly. 

Sage-brush  took  his  jibing  in  the  best  of  humor. 
It  was  a  holiday,  and  they  were  with  people  of  their 
own  kind.  Had  a  stranger  been  present  the  remarks 
would  have  been  resented  bitterly.  On  this  point 
cowboys  are  particularly  sensitive.  In  the  presence  of 
outsiders  they  are  silent,  answering  only  in  monosylla- 
bles, never  leading  in  any  conversation,  and  if  any 
comment  is  necessary  they  make  it  indirectly. 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  society-bud  like  you  are,"  laughed 
Sage-brush.  The  others  joined  with  him  in  his  mer- 
riment over  Fresno's  discomfiture.  "Weddin's  ain't 
so  frequent  where  I  come  from  as  they  is  in  Cali- 
forny." 

"It's  the  climate,"  answered  Fresno,  with  a  broad 
grin. 

"So  you  ain't  never  been  at  a  weddin'  ?"  asked  Allen, 
who  was  looking  for  another  opening  to  have  more 
fun  with  Sage-brush. 


TheRound-Up  9' 

Again  the  cowboy  became  serious  and  confessed: 
"Nope;  I've  officiated  at  several  plain  killin's,  an'  been 
chief  usher  at  a  lynchin',  but  this  yere's  my  first  wed- 
din',  an'  I'm  goin'  to  turn  loose  some  and  enjoy  it." 

Sage-brush  grinned  in  anticipation  of  the  good  times 
that  he  knew  lay  in  store  for  him  at  the  dance. 

"You're  fixed  up  as  if  you  was  the  main  attraction 
at  this  event,"  said  Allen,  looking  Sage-brush  over 
carefully  and  spinning  him  around  on  his  heel. 

"Ain't  I  mussed  up  fine?"  answered  Sage-brush. 

"You're  the  sure  big  turkey,"  interrupted  Paren- 
thesis. 

"Served  up  fine,  with  all  the  trimmin's,"  laughed 
Fresno,  taking  another  jab  at  his  friend. 

Their  sport  was  broken  up  for  the  time  being  by  the 
appearance  of  Polly  at  the  door  of  the  ranch-house. 
"Hello,  boys,"  she  shouted,  with  the  fascinating  cor- 
diality of  the  Western  girl,  wherein  the  breath  of  the 
plains,  the  purity  of  the  air,  and  the  wholesomeness  of 
life  is  embraced  in  a  simple  greeting  and  the  clasp  of 
a  hand. 

The  cowboys  took  off  their  hats,  and  made  elab- 
orate bows  to  the  young  woman.  "Howdy,  M:~5 
Polly !"  they  cried. 


9*  The   Round-Up 

"You  sure  do  look  pert,"  added  Sage-brush,  with 
what  he  considered  his  most  winning  smile.  Fresno 
snickered  and  hastily  brushed  back  the  hair  from  his 
forehead. 

"Where's  Jack?"  she  asked  the  two  men,  who  at 
once  ranged  themselves  one  on  each  side  of  her. 

"He  did  not  start  with  the  boys,"  explained  Allen. 
"He'll  be  along  soon,  Polly." 

"Well,  now,  when  it  comes  to  lookers,  what's  the 
matter  with  Polly  Hope?"  exclaimed  Sage-brush  slyly, 

Glances  of  admiration  were  cast  at  the  girl,  who 
was  dressed  simply  and  plainly  in  a  little  white  gown 
which  Mrs.  Allen  had  made  for  her  for  the  wed- 
ding. Polly's  youth,  good  nature,  and  ability  to  take 
care  of  herself  made  her  a  favorite  on  the  ranch.  She 
had  no  need  of  defenders,  but  if  an  occasion  should 
arise  that  Polly  required  a  knight,  there  were  a  score 
of  guns  at  her  service  at  an  hour's  notice. 

"Looks  like  a  picture  from  a  book,"  said  Fresno, 
hoping  to  win  back  the  ground  he  had  lost  by  Sage- 
brush's openly  expressed  admiration. 

Polly  was  flattered  by  the  comments  and  the  glances 
of  the  boys,  which  expressed  their  approval  of  her  ap- 
pearance more  loudly  than  spoken  words.  She  pre- 


The   Round-Up  95 

tended,  however,  to  be  annoyed.  "Go  'long;  *  she  said. 
"Where's  Bud  Lane?  Didn't  you  give  him  his  in- 
vite?" 

The  boys  turned  from  one  to  the  other  with  feigned 
glances  of  disgust  at  being  slighted  by  Polly  for  an 
absent  one.  The  one-sided  courtship  of  Bud  and 
Polly  was  known  up  and  down  the  valley,  and  indefi- 
nite postponement  of  their  wedding-day  was  one  of 
the  jests  of  the  two  ranches. 

"Oh,  we  sent  it  on  to  him  at  Florence.  He'll  git 
it  in  time,  if  he  ain't  gone  to  the  Lazy  K  with  Buck 
McKee,"  said  Sage-brush;  then,  turning  to  the  other 
cowboys,  he  added  in  an  aggrieved  tone:  "Polly 
ain't  got  no  eyes  for  no  one  excep'  Bud." 

Polly  stepped  to  Allen's  side,  and,  laying  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  said:  "Ain't  I?"  Allen  patted  the 
girl's  head.  He  was  very  fond  of  her,  looking  upon 
her  as  another  daughter. 

Polly  smiled  back  into  his  face,  and  then,  with  a 
glance  at  the  cowboys,  said :  "Say,  Uncle  Jim,  there's 
some  bottles  to  be  opened." 

The  invitation  was  an  indirect  one,  but  all  knew 
what  it  meant,  and  started  for  the  house. 


94  The    Round-Up 

"Root-beer,"  added  Polly  mischieTOusly ;  "the  corks 
pull  awful  hard." 

Allen  glanced  at  her  in  feigned  alarm. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do — stampede  the  bunch?" 

Before  she  could  answer,  the  approach  of  a  horse 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  group. 

"There's  Jack,  now!"  cried  Sage-brush,  in  tones 
which  plainly  showed  his  relief;  "no,  it  ain't,"  he 
added  reflectively,  "he  rode  his  pacin'  mare,  and  that's 
a  trottin'  horse." 

The  cry  of  the  rider  was  heard  quieting  his  mount. 
Allen  recognized  the  voice.  "It's  Slim  Hoover,"  he 
cried. 

Polly  clapped  her  hands,  and  said  mischievously  to 
Sage-brush:  "Now  you'll  see  me  makin'  goo-goo 
eyes  to  somebody  besides  Bud  Lane.  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  be  the  only  girl  in  Final  County  Slim  Hoover  ain't 
set  up  to." 

"An'  shied  off  from,"  added  Sage-brush,  a  little 
nettled  by  Polly's  overlooking  him  as  a  subject  for 
flirtation.  "But  what's  Slim  doin'  over  this  way?" 

"Come  to  Jack's  weddin',  of  course,"  replied  Polly, 
adding  complacently:  "And  probably  projectin'  a 
hitch-up  of  his  own." 


The   Round~Up  95 

Slim  ran  around  the  corner  of  the  house  directly 
into  the  crowd,  who  seized  him  before  he  could  re- 
cover from  his  surprise,  and  proceeded  to  haze  him, 
to  their  intense  delight  and  the  Sheriff's  embarrass- 
ment, for  he  knew  that  Polly  was  somewhere  near, 
enjoying  his  discomfiture.  Polly  waited  until  hef 
victim  was  fully  ready  for  her  particular  form  of  tor« 
ture.  The  reception  of  the  cowboys  was  crude  to  her 
refined  form  of  making  the  fat  Sheriff  uncomfortable. 

With  the  velvety  cruelty  of  a  flirt  she  held  out  her 
hand,  saying:  "Hello,  Slim." 

The  Sheriff  flushed  under  his  tan.  The  red  crept 
up  the  back  of  his  neck  to  his  ears.  He  awkwardly 
took  off  his  hat.  With  a  bow  and  a  scrape  he  greeted 
her:  "Howdy,  Miss  Polly,  howdy."  Meantime  he 
shook  her  hand  until  she  winced  from  the  heartiness 
of  the  grip. 

"What's  the  news?"  she  asked,  as  she  slowly 
straightened  out  her  fingers  one  by  one. 

"There's  been  a  killin'  over  Florence  way,"  an- 
nounced the  Sheriff,  putting  on  his  hat  and  becoming 
an  officer  of  the  law  with  duty  to  perform. 

"Who  is  the  mis  fortunate?"  asked  Sage-brush,  as 
they  gathered  about  Hoover  and  listened  intently. 


96  The   Round-Up 

Murder  in  Arizona  was  a  serious  matter,  until  pun- 
ishment was  meted  out  to  the  slayer  or  he  was  freed 
by  his  fellow  citizens.  Far  from  courts  of  justice 
and  surrounded  by  men  to  whom  death  was  often 
merely  an  incident  in  a  career  of  crime,  the  settlers 
were  forced  to  depend  upon  themselves  to  keep  peace 
on  the  border.  They  acted  quickly,  but  never  hastily. 
Judgment  followed  quickly  on  conviction.  Their  views 
were  broad,  and  rarely  were  their  decisions  wrong. 

"'Ole  Man'  Terrill,"  replied  the  Sheriff.  "Hap- 
pened about  ten  this  mornin'.  Some  man  caught  him 
alone  in  the  railroad-station  and  bio  wed  his  head  half- 
off." 

"Do  tell!"  was  Allen's  exclamation. 

"Yep,"  continued  the  Sheriff.  "He  must  have  pulled 
a  gun  on  the  fellow.  He  put  up  some  sort  of  a  fight, 
as  the  room  is  some  mussed  up." 

"Robbery?"  queried  Polly,  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"That's  what !"  answered  Slim,  turning  to  her.  "He 
had  three  thousan'  dollars  pinned  in  his  vest — county 
money  for  salaries.  You  know  how  he  toted  his  wad 
around  with  him,  defy  in'  man  or  the  devil  to  get  it 
'way  from  him?  Well,  some  one  who  was  both  man 
an'  devil  was  too  much  for  him." 


The   Round-Up  97 

"Who  found  him?" 

"I  did  myself.  Went  over  around  noon  after  the 
money.  Didn't  stop  to  go  back  to  town  fer  a  posse. 
Trail  was  already  too  cold.  Could  tell  it  was  a  man 
that  rode  a  pacin'  horse." 

His  auditors  looked  at  each  other,  striving  to  re- 
member who  of  their  acquaintance  rode  a  pacing 
horse.  Sage-brush  Charley  shook  his  head.  "No- 
body down  this  way,  'ceptin',  of  course,  the  boss, 
rides  a  pacer.  Must  be  one  of  the  Lazy  K  outfit,  I 
reckon." 

"Most  likely,"  said  the  Sheriff;  "he  struck  out  south, 
probably  to  throw  me  off  scent.  Then  he  fell  in  with 
two  other  men,  and  this  balled  me  up.  I  lost  one  of 
the  tracks,  but  follered  the  other  two  round  Sweet- 
water  Mesa,  till  I  came  where  they  rode  into  the  river. 
Of  course  I  couldn't  follow  the  trail  any  farther  at 
that  p'int,  so,  bein'  as  I  was  near  Uncle  Jim's,  I  rode 
over  fer  help  to  look  along  both  banks  an'  pick  up 
the  trail  wherever  it  comes  out  of  the  river.  Sorry 
I  must  break  up  yer  fun,  boys,  but  some  o'  yuh  must 
come  along  with  me.  Duty's  duty.  I  want  Sage- 
brush, anyhow,  as  I  s'pose  I  can't  ask  fer  Jack  Pay- 
son." 


98  The    Round-Up 

Sage-brush  pulled  a  long  face.  At  any  other  time 
he  would  have  jumped  at  the  chance  of  running  to 
earth  the  dastardly  murderers  of  his  old  friend  Ter- 
rill.  But  in  the  matter  of  this,  his  first  experience  of 
a  wedding,  he  had  tickled  his  palate  so  long  with  the 
sweets  of  anticipation  that  he  could  not  bear  to  forego 
the  culminating  swallow  of  realization. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  be  let  off  as  well  as 
Jack,"  he  grumbled;  "our  cases  are  similar.  You  see, 
it's  my  first  weddin',"  explained  the  foreman  to  the 
sheriff. 

The  other  cowboys  howled  with  delight.  The  hu- 
mor of  the  situation  caught  their  fancy,  and  they 
yelled  a  chorus  of  protestation  in  Hoover's  ears.  In 
this  Colonel  Allen  joined. 

"Don't  spile  the  weddin',"  he  pleaded.  "This  here 
event  has  already  rounded  up  the  Sweetwater  outfit 
fer  yuh,  an'  saved  yuh  more  time  than  you'll  lose  by 
waitin'  till  it's  over.  Then  we'll  all  jine  yuh." 

Hoover  commanded  silence,  and,  rolling  a  cigarette, 
gravely  considered  the  proposition.  He  realized  that 
the  murderers  should  be  followed  up  at  once,  but  that 
if  he  forced  the  cowboys  by  the  legal  power  he  exer- 
cised to  forego  the  pleasure  they  had  been  antici- 


The    Round-Up  99 

pating  so  greatly,  they  would  not  be  so  keen  in  pur- 
suit as  if  they  had  first  "given  the  boss  his  send-off." 
The  considerations  being  equal,  or,  as  he  put  it,  "hoss 
an'  hoss,"  it  seemed  to  him  wise  to  submit  to  Allen's 
proposition,  backed  as  it  was  by  the  justice  of  his  plan 
that  the  occasion  of  the  wedding  had  already  saved 
valuable  time  in  assembling  the  posse.  He  assented, 
therefore,  but,  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  his  office 
and  control  of  the  situation,  with  apparent  reluctance. 

"Well,  hurry  up  the  sacreements  an'  ceremonies, 
then,  an'  the  minute  the  preacher  ties  the  knot,  every 
man  uv  yuh  but  Jack  an'  the  parson  an'  Uncle  Jim 
gits  on  his  hoss  an'  folluhs  me.  I'll  wait  out  in  the 
corral." 

At  this  there  was  another  storm  of  expostulation, 
led  this  time  by  Allen.  Of  course  Hoover  was  to 
come  to  the  wedding,  and  be  its  guest  of  honor.  "You 
shall  be  the  first  to  wish  Jack  and  Echo  luck,"  said 
Allen.  "That  means  you'll  be  the  next  one  to  marry." 

The  ruddy-faced  Sheriff  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his 
auburn  hair. 

"Much  obliged,  but  I  ain't  fixed  up  fer  a  weddin'," 
and  he  looked  down  at  his  travel-stained  breeches, 
tucked  in  riding-boots  white  with  alkali-dust,  and  felt 


The   Round-Up 


of  his  buttonless  waistcoat  and  gingham  shirt  open  at 
the  throat,  with  the  bandanna  handkerchief  around 
his  neck  in  lieu  of  both  collar  and  tie. 

Polly  assured  him  that  he  would  do  very  well  as 
he  was,  that  for  her  part  she  "wouldn't  want  no 
better-dressed  man  than  he  to  be  present  at  her  own 
wedding,  not  even  "the  feller  she  was  goin'  to  hitch 
up  to;"  whereat  Slim  Hoover  was  greatly  set  at  ease. 

Polly  was  bounding  up  the  piazza  steps  to  tell  Echo 
of  the  accession  to  her  party,  when  Hoover  held  up 
his  hand.  A  terrifying  suggestion  had  flashed  through 
his  mind. 

"Hold  on  a  minute  !"  he  exclaimed,  and,  turning  to 
Allen,  he  asked  anxiously:  "Does  this  yere  guest  of 
honor  haf  to  kiss  the  bride?" 

The  question  was  so  foreign  to  the  serious  topic 
which  had  just  been  under  discussion  that  every  one 
laughed  in  relief  of  the  nervous  tension. 

Allen's  fun-loving  nature  at  once  bubbled  to  the  sur- 
face. With  an  air  of  assumed  anger  he  said  to  the 
Sheriff: 

"Of  course;  every  guest  has  to  do  it."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  cowboys,  he  asked  :  "Is  there  any  one  here 
as  holds  out  strong  objection  to  kissin'  my  daughter?" 


The   Round-Up 


"Not  me,"  laughed  Sage-brush,  "I'm  here  to  go  the 
limit." 

"I'm  an  experienced  kisser,  I  am,"  said  Parenthesis, 
"I  don't  lose  no  chance  at  practise." 

"I'll   take  two,   please,"   simpered   Fresno. 

Show  Low  interrupted  the  general  sally  which  fol- 
lowed this  remark,  saying  :  "I  strings  my  chips  along 
with  Fresno." 

"Slim's  afraid  of  females!"  drawled  Polly  provo- 
kingly. 

"Oh,  thunder!"  exclaimed  Slim  to  Polly.  "No,  I 
ain't,  nothin'  of  the  sort.  I'm  a  peaceful  man,  I  am. 
I  never  likes  to  start  no  trouble." 

"Get  out,  what's  one  kiss?"  laughed  Allen. 

"I've  seen  a  big  jack-pot  of  trouble  opened  by  chip- 
pin'  in  just  one  kiss,"  wisely  remarked  the  Sheriff. 

Sage-brush,  at  this  point,  announced  decisively: 
"The  bride  has  got  to  be  kissed." 

Slim  tried  to  break  through  the  group  and  enter  the 
house,  thinking  that  by  making  such  a  move  he  would 
divert  their  attention,  and  that  in  the  excitement  of 
the  wedding  he  could  avoid  kissing  the  bride,  an  ordeal 
which  to  him  was  more  terrible  than  facing  the  worst 
gun-fighter  in  Arizona. 


The    Round-Up 


"I  deputize  you  to  do  the  kissin'  for  me,"  Slim  said 
to  Parenthesis,  who  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  Sheriff's 
shoulder  to  detain  him. 

"No,  siree,"  the  cowboy  replied.  "Not  me.  Every 
man  does  his  own  kissin'  in  this  game."  Slim  halted, 
as  if  undecided.  Suddenly  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
started  for  the  corral.  "I'll  wait  outside,"  he  shouted. 

"No,  you  don't!"  cried  his  companions.  Slim 
turned  to  face  a  semicircle  of  drawn  revolvers.  He 
looked  from  one  man  to  another,  as  if  puzzled  as  to 
what  move  to  make  next.  Allen  was  annoyed  by  the 
sheriff's  actions,  taking  it  as  an  insult  that  Hoover 
would  not  kiss  his  daughter,  although  he  had  started 
to  twit  the  Sheriff  in  the  beginning. 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  insult  me  and  mine  that  way. 
No  man  sidesteps  kissin'  one  of  my  kids,"  he  said  an- 
grily. 

Slim  was  plaintively  apologetic:  "I  ain't  kissed  a 
female  since  I  was  a  yearlin'." 

"Time  you  started,"  snapped  Polly. 

"You  kiss  the  bride,  or  I  take  it  pussenel,"  said  Al- 
len, thoroughly  aroused. 

"Well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I'll  do  it,"  gasped 
Slim,  in  desperation. 


The    Round- Up  103 

The  agreement  restored  the  boys  to  their  good  na- 
ture. 

"You  will  have  to  put  blinders  on  me,  though,  and 
back  me  up,"  cautioned  Hoover. 

"We'll  hog-tie  you  and  sit  on  your  head,"  laughed 
Sage-brush,  as  the  guests  entered  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   Tangled  Web. 

After  fording  Sweetwater  River  several  times  to 
throw  pursuit  off  the  track,  Buck  McKee  and  Bud 
Lane  entered  an  arroyo  to  rest  their  mounts  and  hold 
council  as  to  their  future  movements.  During  the 
flight  both  had  been  silent ;  McKee  was  busy  revolving 
plans  for  escape  in  his  mind,  and  Bud  was  brooding 
over  the  tragic  ending  of  the  lawless  adventure  into 
which  he  had  been  led  by  his  companion.  When 
McKee  callously  informed  him  that  the  agent  had  been 
killed  in  the  encounter,  Bud  was  too  horrified  to  speak. 
A  dry  sob  arose  in  his  throat  at  the  thought  of  his 
old  friend  lying  dead,  all  alone,  in  the  station.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  turn  back  to  Florence  and  sur- 
render himself  to  the  Sheriff.  Had  this  entailed  the 
punishment  of  himself  alone,  he  would  have  done  so, 
but  he  still  retained  a  blind  loyalty  in  his  associate 
and  principal  in  the  crime.  Murder,  it  seemed,  was 
to  be  expected  when  one  took  the  law  in  his  own 
hands  to  right  an  injustice.  He  didn't  clearly  under- 


The  Round-Up 


stand  it.  It  was  his  first  experience  with  a  killing. 
The  heartlessness  of  McKee  both  awed  and  horrified 
him.  Evidently  the  half-breed  was  accustomed  to 
such  actions.  It  appeared  to  be  entirely  justified  in 
his  code.  So  Bud  followed  in  dull  silence  the  mas- 
terful man  who  had  involved  him  in  the  fearful  deed. 

When  they  dismounted,  however,  his  pent-up  emo- 
tion burst  forth. 

"You  said  there  would  be  no  killing,"  he  gasped, 
passing  his  hand  wearily  across  his  forehead  as  if  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  the  crime. 

"Well,  what  did  the  old  fool  pull  his  gun  for?" 
grumbled  McKee  petulantly,  as  if  Terrill  was  the  ag- 
gressor in  the  encounter. 

Bud  threw  himself  wearily  on  the  ground. 

"I'd  give  the  rest  of  my  life  to  undo  to-day's  work," 
he  groaned,  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  his  com- 
panion. 

McKee  heard  him.  His  anger  began  to  rise.  If 
Bud  weakened  detection  was  certain.  Flight  back  to 
Texas  must  be  started  without  delay.  If  he  could 
strengthen  the  will  of  the  boy  either  by  promises  of 
reward  or  fear  of  punishment,  the  chances  of  detec- 
tion would  lessen  as  the  days  passed. 


106  The    Round-Up 

"And  that  would  be  about  twenty-four  hours  if 
you  don't  keep  quiet.  Why  didn't  he  put  up  his  hands 
when  I  hollered?  He  starts  to  wrastle  and  pull  his 
gun,  and  I  had  to  nail  him."  McKee  shuddered  in 
spite  of  his  bravado. 

Pulling  himself  together  with  an  apparent  effort,  he 
continued:  "We'll  hold  the  money  for  a  spell — not 
spend  a  cent  of  it  till  this  thing  blows  over — they'll 
never  get  us.  Here,  we'll  divide  it." 

"Keep  it  all.  I  never  want  to  touch  a  penny  of  it," 
said  Bud  earnestly,  moving  along  the  ground  to  place 
a  greater  distance  between  him  and  the  murderer. 

"Thanks.  But  you  don't  git  out  of  your  part  in 
the  hold-up  that  easy.  Take  your  share,  or  I'll  blow  it 
into  you,"  said  McKee,  pulling  his  revolver. 

Bud,  with  an  effort,  arose  and  walked  over  to  Buck. 
With  clenched  fists,  in  agonized  tones,  he  cried: 
"Shoot,  if  you  want  to.  I  wish  I'd  never  seen  you — • 
you  dragged  me  into  this — you  made  me  your  accom- 
plice in  a  murder." 

McKee  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  This  phase  of 
human  character  was  new  to  him,  trained  as  he  had 
been  on  the  border,  where  men  rarely  suffered  with 
remorse  and  still  more  rarely  displayed  it. 


The   Round-Up  107 

"Shucks!  I  killed  him — you  didn't  have  no  hand 
in  it,"  answered  Buck.  "This  ain't  my  first  killin'.  I 
guess  Buck  McKee's  pretty  well  known  in  some  sec- 
tions. I  took  all  the  chances.  I  did  the  killin'.  You 
git  half.  Now,  brace  up  and  take  yer  medicine 
straight." 

"But  I  didn't  want  to  take  the  money  for  myself," 
replied  Bud,  as  if  to  soothe  his  conscience.  "Oh! 
Buck,  why  didn't  you  let  me  alone?"  he  continued,  as 
the  thought  of  his  position  again  overwhelmed  him. 

Buck  gasped  at  the  shifting  of  the  full  blame  upon 
his  shoulders. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!"  he  muttered.  "You  make 
me  sick,  Kid."  His  voice  rose  in  anger  and  disgust. 
"Why,  to  hear  you  talk,  one  would  think  you  was  the 
only  one  had  right  feelin's.  I'm  goin'  to  take  my 
share  and  start  a  decent  life.  I'm  goin'  back  to  Texas 
an'  open  a  saloon.  You  take  your  half,  marry  your 
gal,  and  settle  down  right  here.  'Ole  Man'  Terrill's 
dead;  nothin'  will  bring  him  back,  an'  you  might  as 
well  get  the  good  o'  the  money.  It's  Slim  Hoover's, 
anyhow.  If  Jack  Pay  son  can  marry  your  brother 
Dick's  gal  on  Dick's  money — fer  there's  no  hope  o' 
stoppin'  that  now — you  can  cut  Slim  out  with  Polly 


io8  The   Round-Up 

on  Slim's  salary.  Aw,  take  the  money!"  and  McKee 
pressed  half  of  the  bills  into  Bud's  lax  ringers. 

The  young  man's  hand  closed  upon  them  mechanic- 
ally. A  vague  thought  that  he  might  some  day  make 
restitution  conspired  with  McKee's  insidious  appeal  to 
his  hatred  and  jealousy  to  induce  him  to  retain  the 
blood-money,  and  he  thrust  it  within  an  inside  pocket 
of  his  loose  waistcoat. 

"Now,"  said  McKee,  thoroughly  satisfied  that  he 
had  involved  Bud  in  the  crime  too  deeply  for  him  to 
confess  his  share  in  it,  "we'll  shake  hands,  and  say 
'adios.'  Slim  Hoover's  probably  on  our  track  by  this 
time,  but  I  reckon  he'll  be  some  mixed  in  the  trail 
around  the  mesa,  and  give  the  job  up  as  a  bad  one 
when  he  reaches  the  river.  I'll  show  up  on  the  Lazy 
K,  where  the  whole  outfit  will  swear  I've  been  fer  two 
days,  if  Hoover  picks  on  me  as  one  of  the  men  he's 
been  follerin'.  You're  safe.  Nobody'd  put  killin' 
anybody  on  to  you,  let  alone  your  ole  frien'  Terrill. 
Why,  yuh  ain't  a  man  yet,  Bud,  though  I  don't  say 
it  to  discurrudge  yuh.  You've  made  a  start,  an'  some 
day  yuh  won't  think  no  more'n  me  of  killin'  a  feller 
what  stan's  in  yer  way.  I  shouldn't  be  so  turribly 
suprised  if  Jack  Payson  got  what's  comin'  to  him  some 


The   Round-Up  109 

day.  But  what  have  you  got  there,  Bud  ?"  he  inquired, 
as  he  saw  the  young  man  holding  a  letter  he  had  with- 
drawn from  the  pocket  into  which  he  had  put  the 
bills. 

"Letter  I  got  in  Florence  yesterday  when  I  was  too 
full  to  read  it,"  said  Bud.  He  opened  it.  "Why,  it's 
from  Polly!"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  an  invite — by  God! 
it's  an  invite  to  Jack  an'  Echo's  wedding!  It's  to- 
day! That  damned  scoundrel  has  hurried  the  thing- 
up  for  fear  Dick  will  get  back  in  time  to  stop  it! 
Buck  McKee,  I  believe  you're  right !  I  could  kill  Jack 
Payson  with  no  more  pity  than  I  would  a  rattler  or 
Gila  monster!" 

At  this  exhibition  of  hatred  by  his  companion,  a 
new  thought  flashed  suddenly  through  the  satanic 
mind  of  the  half-breed.  It  involved  an  entire  change 
of  his  plans,  but  the  devilish  daring  of  the  conception 
was  irresistible. 

"Say,"  he  broke  in,  with  seeming  irrelevance,  "don't 
Payson  ride  a  pacin'  mare?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Bud,  "what  of  it?" 

"Oh,  nothin',"  said  McKee;  "it  jus'  struck  me  as 
sorter  funny.  Payson  and  pacin',  don't  you  see." 

Bud  was  mystified.     Had  his  companion  gone  daft  ? 


The   Round  -Up 


McKee  saw  instantly  that  it  would  be  very  easy  to 
fix  the  charge  of  murdering  the  station-agent  upon 
Payson.  The  ranchman  had  evidently  left  the  station 
a  short  time  before  the  murder,  and  had  gone  straight 
south  to  the  Sweetwater.  Unless  it  had  become  con- 
fused with  their  own  tracks,  the  trail  would  be  a 
plain  one,  owing  to  the  fact  that  it  was  made  by  a  pa- 
cing horse,  and  the  pursuit  would  undoubtedly  follow 
this. 

Payson  rode  the  only  pacing  horse  in  the  Sweet- 
water  and  Bar  One  outfits,  and  it  was  certain  to  come 
to  light,  from  Terrill's  receipts,  that  he  had  been  with 
the  agent  about  the  time  of  the  killing.  The  motive 
for  the  robbery  would  be  evident.  Payson  was  in  need 
of  three  thousand  dollars  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  on 
his  ranch. 

McKee  said  to  Bud:  "I've  changed  my  mind.  I 
think  I'll  see  a  little  fun  before  I  break  for  Texas. 
I'll  go  with  you  to  the  weddin'." 

"But  you  ain't  got  no  invite,"  objected  Bud. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  they'll  take  me  along  on  yours.  I 
know  too  much  fer  Payson  to  objeck  to  me  too  stren- 
uous." 


The   Round-Up 


They  rode  up  to  Allen  Hacienda  shortly  after  Slim 
Hoover  had  arrived.  They  could  hear  the  merriment 
of  the  wedding-guests  in  the  kitchen.  Loud  laughter 
was  punctuated  by  the  popping  of  corks,  and  McKee, 
who  rode  in  advance  of  Bud,  distinguished  the  voice 
of  the  Sheriff  in  expostulation  against  the  general 
raillery  concentrated  upon  him. 

The  half-breed  grinned  wolfishly.  It  was  evident 
that  the  bloodhound  of  the  law  had  tracked  the  sup- 
posed murderer  just  as  the  real  criminal  had  conjec- 
tured and  desired. 

Polly  ran  out  on  the  piazza..  She  saw  the  man 
whom  she  regarded  as  her  lover's  evil  genius.  As  he 
greeted  her  ingratiatingly  :  "Howdy,  Miss  Polly,"  sh° 
replied  sharply: 

"You  ain't  got  no  invite  to  this  weddin'." 

"I  come  with  my  friend  Bud,"  he  explained,  with 
an  elaborate  bow. 

"I  didn't  see  you,  Bud,"  answered  Polly  slightly  mol- 
lified, as  she  crossed  the  door-yard  to  shake  hands 
with  her  sweetheart.  Buck  offered  her  his  hand,  but 
she  ignored  him.  McKee  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
started  for  the  house. 

"Bud,  he's  some  cast  down  because  it's  not  his  wed- 


The   Round-Up 


din',"  was  McKee's  parting  shot  at  the  young  couple. 
"I  'low  I'll  go  in  and  join  the  boys.  Excuse  me." 

"With  pleasure,"  coldly  replied  the  girl. 

The  half-breed  ignored  the  sarcasm  and,  answering 
innocently,  "Much  obliged,"  he  entered  the  house. 

Polly  turned  on  Bud,  displaying  her  resentment. 
"You  an*  him  always  kick  up  the  devil  when  you're 
together.  What  did  you  bring  him  along  fer?"  she 
demanded. 

"It's  his  last  chance  to  see  any  fun  around  here; 
he's  leavin'  for  Texas,"  explained  Bud. 

"Fer  how  long?" 

"Fer  good." 

"Fer  our  good,  you  mean.  There's  too  many  of  his 
kind  comin'  into  this  country.  Did  you  hear  about 
'Ole  Man'  Terrill?" 

Bud  did  not  wait  for  her  to  explain,  but  nervously 
answered:  "They  told  us  about  it  in  Florence  when 
we  were  comin'  through.  We've  been  at  the  Lazy 
K." 

"Wasn't  it  dreadful?"  rattled  on  Polly.  "Slim's 
here  —  the  boys  are  goin'  to  turn  out  with  him  after 
the  weddin'  to  see  if  they  can  ketch  the  feller  who 
did  the  killin'." 


The   Round-Up  "I. 

Bud  paled  as  he  heard  the  news.  To  conceal  his 
distress  he  moved  toward  the  door.  Anywhere  to  get 
away  from  the  girl  to  whom  he  feared  he  would  be- 
tray himself.  "I'll  join  'em,"  he  huskily  answered. 

Polly,  however,  could  see  no  reason  for  his  evident 
haste  to  leave  her. 

She  felt  hurt,  but  thought  his  actions  were  due  to 
her  scolding  him  for  being  with  McKee. 

"You  ain't  ever  ast  me  how  I  look,"  she  inquired, 
seeking  to  detain  him. 

"You  look  fine,"  complimented  Bud  perfunctorily. 

"Wen  a  feller  ain't  seen  a  feller  in  a  week,  seems 
like  a  feller  ought  to  brace  up  and  start  something," 
replied  Polly,  in  an  injured  tone. 

Bud  smiled  in  spite  of  his  fears.  Catching  the  girl 
in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her,  and  said :  "I  was  a-waitin' 
for  the  chance." 

Polly  disengaged  herself  from  his  embrace,  and 
sighed  contentedly.  "That's  something  like  it.  What's 
the  use  of  bein'  engaged  to  a  feller  if  you  can't  have 
all  the  trimmin's  that  goes  with  it.  You  look  as  if 
you  wasn't  too  happy." 

Bud  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort.  He 
realized  that  if  he  did  not  show  more  interest  in  the 


"4  The    Round-Up 

girl  and  the  wedding  he  might  be  suspected  of  con- 
nection with  the  murder." 

He  trumped  up  an  explanation  of  his  moodiness. 

"Well,  what  call  have  I  to  be  happy?  Ain't  I  lost 
my  job?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  because  you  were  hot-headed,  an* 
gave  your  boss  too  much  lip.  But  everything  will 
come  out  all  right.  Jack  says " 

"Has  that  low-down  liar  an'  thief  been  comin'  it 
over  you,  Polly?  Did  he  tell  you  how  he  gave  the 
place  he  promised  me  to  Sage-brush?" 

"That  wasn't  until  you  gave  him  slack,  Bud.  An' 
I'm  sure  he  ain't  a  thief ;  why " 

"Thief,  of  course  he  is,  an'  a  blacker-hearted  one 
than  the  man  that  killed  Terrill.  Ain't  he  going  to 
steal  my  brother  Dick's  girl  this  very  night  ?" 

"But  Dick  is  dead,"  expostulated  Polly. 

"Dick  ain't  dead;  I  know  it — that  is,"  he  stam- 
mered, "I  feel  it  in  my  bones  he  ain't  dead.  An' 
Jack  feels  it,  too ;  that's  why  he's  hurried  up  this  wed- 
din'." 

"But  your  own  friend,  Buck  McKee,  saw  Dick  just 
before  the  'Paches  killed  him." 


The    Round-Up  "5 

"But  not  after  it.  An'  Buck  now  thinks  the 
Rurales  may  have  come  up  in  time  to  save  him." 

"Seems  to  me  if  that's  so  he  has  had  time  enough 
since  then  to  write,"  objected  Polly,  who  was,  never- 
theless, impressed  by  Bud's  vehemence. 

"How  do  you  know  that  he  has  not  written?" 

Polly  could  only  gasp.  These  accusations  were  com- 
ing too  fast  for  her  to  answer. 

"You  can't  tell  what  a  man  might  do  in  a  case  like 
that.  Perhaps  Dick's  'way  in  the  mountains,  away 
from  the  railroad,  prospectin'  down  in  the  Ghost 
Range,  where  he  has  been  tryin'  to  locate  the  lost  lode. 
There's  lots  of  reasons  for  his  not  writing  to  Echo. 
But  Echo  doesn't  seem  to  mind.  A  year  an'  a  half 
is  enough  to  mend  any  woman's  heart." 

"Now,  you "  began  Polly,  who  was  growing- 

angry  under  the  charges  which  were  being  heaped  on 
her  two  best  friends  by  the  overwrought  boy. 

Bud  would  not  let  her  finish,  but  cried:  "Eeho 
never  loved  him.  If  she  did  she  would  not  be  acting 
like  she  is  goin'  to  to-night." 

Rushing  to  Echo's  defense  Polly  answered1.  "She 
may  or  may  not  have  loved  Dick  Lane,  but  I  know 
that  she  loves  Jack  Payson  now  with  all  her  heart, 


"6  The   Round-Up 

and,  even  if  the  Taches  did  not  get  your  brother,  he  is 
as  dead  to  her  as  if  they  had." 

Polly  was  startled  and  confused  by  Bud's  accusa- 
tions. Accordingly,  it  was  a  relief  to  her  when  Jack 
Payson  appeared  on  the  scene.  They  had  been  so  in- 
terested in  their  conversation  that  they  did  not  hear 
him  ride  up  to  the  house.  "Hello,  Polly!  Hello,  Bud!" 
were  his  cordial  greetings,  for  he  was  determined  to 
ignore  his  former  employee's  hostility.  Bud  did  not 
answer,  but  looked  moodily  on  the  ground. 

To  Eastern  eyes  Payson's  wedding-attire  would  ap- 
pear most  incongruous.  About  his  waist  was  strapped 
a  revolver.  His  riding-trousers,  close-fitting  and 
corded,  were  buttoned  over  the  calves  of  his  legs.  Soft, 
highly  polished  leather  boots  reached  to  his  knees. 
His  shirt  was  of  silk,  deeply  embroidered  down  the 
front  and  at  the  collar.  His  jacket  gave  him  ample 
breathing-room  about  the  chest,  but  tapered  at  the 
waist  and  clung  closely  over  the  hips.  He  wore  a 
sombrero  and  a  knotted  silk  handkerchief.  His  face 
was  deeply  sunburned,  except  a  spot  shaped  like  a 
crescent  just  below  the  hair-line  on  the  forehead,  which 
was  protected  from  the  sun  by  the  hat  and  the  shade 
of  the  brim.  A  similar  line  of  fairer  skin  ran  around 


The   Round-Up 


the  edge  of  the  scalp,  beginning  over  the  ears.  His 
hair  shaded  the  upper  part  of  his  neck  from  the  sun's 
rays.  When  his  hair  was  trimmed  the  untanned  part 
showed  as  plainly  as  if  painted.  It  is  the  mark  of  the 
plainsman  in  a  city  or  on  a  holiday. 

"Well,  it'o  about  time  that  you  got  here,"  said  Polly, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Where  have  you  been?" 

"I  stopped  over  to  Sam  Terrill's  to  see  about  some- 
thing that  I  ordered  from  Kansas  City.  Then  I  had 
to  go  back  to  my  ranch  -  " 

Bud  started  guiltily.  Forgetting  his  determination 
to  ignore  Payson,  he  asked  anxiously.  "You  didn't 
see  Terrill,  did  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

Polly  laid  her  hand  on  Payson'  s  arm  and  told  him 
briefly  of  the  shooting  of  Terrill. 

"Who  shot  him?"  he  asked,  when  she  had  finished. 

"They  don't  know  —  he  was  robbed  of  a  pile  of 
money  —  Slim  Hoover's  just  rode  over  to  get  a  posse," 
she  replied,  looking  toward  the  door.  At  this  bit  of 
information  Payson  became  anxious  about  the  plans 
for  his  wedding.  The  ceremony  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind  at  the  time. 


"8  The   Round-Up 

"Well,  he  can  get  one  after  the  wedding."  Then 
he  asked:  "Is  the  minister  here  yet?" 

Polly  laughingly  replied:  "You're  feelin'  pretty 
spry  now,  but  you'll  be  as  meek  as  a  baby  calf  in  a 
little  while.  In  this  section  a  bridegroom  is  treated 
worse  than  a  tenderfoot." 

Payson  smiled.  He  knew  he  was  in  for  a  thorough 
hazing  by  the  boys.  "That's  all  right.  I'll  get  back 
at  you  some  day — when  you  and  Bud " 

Polly  interrupted  him  with  a  remark  about  minding 
his  own  business. 

Bud  avoided  entering  into  the  conversation.  He 
had  walked  toward  the  door  and  was  standing  on  the 
steps  when  he  answered  for  Polly. 

"Looks  as  if  your  chances  of  gettin'  even  with  us 
is  a  long  way  off,"  he  said.  Turning,  he  entered  the 
house,  to  join  the  other  guests  who,  by  the  noise,  were 
enjoying  Allen's  importations  from  Tucson  to  the  bot- 
tom of  every  glass. 

Polly  looked  after  Bud,  smiling  quizzically.  "Bud's 
mighty  hopeful,  ain't  he?  Ain't  you  happy?" 

"You  bet!  Don't  I  look  it?"  cried  Jack,  rubbing1 
his  hands.  "Never  thought  I  could  be  so  happy.  A 
fellow  doesn't  get  married  every  day  in  the  week." 


TheRound-Up  "9 

"Not  unless  he  lives  in  Chicago ;  I  hear  it's  the  habit 
there,"  answered  Polly. 

"The  sweetest  girl  in  the  Territory "  began 

Jack. 

"You  bet  she  is,"  Polly  broke  in.  "If  you  just 
want  to  keep  her  lovin'  and  lovin'  you — all  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  treat  her  white  and  play  square  with  her." 

"Play  square  with  her,"  thought  Payson.  Was  he 
playing  square  with  her?  He  knew  that  he  was  not, 
but  the  chance  of  losing  her  was  too  great  for  him  to 
risk. 

"For  if  you  ain't  on  the  level  with  Echo  Allen, 
well — you  might  as  well  crawl  out  of  camp,  that's  the 
kind  of  girl  she  is,"  Polly  exclaimed  loyally. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Josephine  Opens  the  Sluices. 

Entering  the  living-room,  Bud  found  Echo  sur- 
rounded by  several  girls  from  Florence  and  the  neigh- 
boring ranches,  who  were  driving  her  almost  distracted 
with  their  admiring  attentions,  for  she  was  greatly 
disturbed  about  her  lover's  inexplicable  absence.  Had 
she  been  free  from  the  duties  of  hospitality,  she  would 
have  leaped  on  her  horse  and  gone  in  search  of  him. 

Echo's  wedding-attire  would  seem  as  incongruous 
as  Jack's  to  the  eyes  of  an  Easterner,  yet  it  was  en- 
tirely suited  to  the  circumstances,  for  the  couple  in- 
tended, as  soon  as  they  were  married,  to  ride  to  a 
little  hunting-cabin  of  Jack's  in  the  Tortilla  Moun- 
tains, where  they  would  spend  their  honeymoon. 

She  was  dressed  in  an  olive-green  riding-habit, 
which  she  had  brought  from  the  East.  The  skirt  was 
divided,  and  reached  just  below  the  knee;  her  blouse, 
of  lighter  material,  and  brown  in  color,  was  loose,  al- 


The    Round-Up  121 

lowing  free  play  for  her  arms  and  shoulders.  High 
riding-boots  were  laced  to  the  knee.  A  sombrero  and 
riding-gloves  lay  on  the  table  ready  to  complete  her 
costume. 

Bud  coldly  acknowledged  Echo's  affectionate  and 
happy  greeting,  and  curtly  informed  her  that  Jack 
had  arrived. 

She  rushed  out  of  doors  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

Running  across  the  courtyard  toward  her  lover, 
who  awaited  her  with  outstretched  arms,  she  began : 

"Well,  this  is  a  nice  time,  you  outrageous " 

when  Polly  stopped  her  with  a  mock-serious  look. 
"Wait  a  minute — wait  a  minute"  (the  girl  drawled  as 
if  reining  in  a  too  eager  horse)  "don't  commence  call- 
ing love-names  before  you  get  the  hitch — time  enough 
after.  He  has  been  actin'  up  something  scandalous 
with  me." 

Jack  threw  up  his  hands  in  protest,  hastily  deny- 
ing any  probable  charge  that  the  tease  might  make. 
"Why,  I  haven't  been  saying  a  word!"  he  cried. 

Polly  laughed  as  she  ran  to  the  door. 

"No,  you  haven't,"  she  answered  mockingly,  as  one 
agrees  with  a  child  whose  feelings  have  been  hurt. 
"He's  only  been  tellin'  me  he  loved "  Pausing 


122  The    Round-Up 

an  instant,  she  pointed  at  Echo,  ending  her  sentence 
with  a  shouted  "you." 

With  her  hand  on  Jack's  shoulder,  Echo  said: 
"Polly,  you  are  a  flirt.  You've  too  many  strings  to 
your  bow." 

"You  mean  I've  too  many  beaux  to  my  strings!" 
laughingly  answered  the  girl. 

"You'll  have  Slim  Hoover  and  Bud  Lane  shooting 
each  other  up  all  on  your  account,"  chided  Echo. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  pouted  Polly.  "Can't  a  girl 
have  friends  ?  But  I  know  what  you  two  are  waiting 
for?" 

"What?"  asked  Jack. 

"You  want  me  to  vamose.  I'm  hep.  I'll  vam." 
And  Polly  ran  into  the  kitchen  to  tell  the  men  that 
the  bridegroom  had  arrived,  but  couldn't  be  seen  until 
the  bride  was  through  with  an  important  interview 
with  him.  So  she  hustled  them  all  into  the  living- 
room,  where  the  girls  were. 

This  room  was  a  long  and  low  apartment,  roughly 
plastered.  The  heavy  ceiling-beams,  hewn  with  axes, 
were  uncovered,  giving  an  old  English  effect,  although 
this  was  not  striven  for,  but  made  under  the  stress  of 
necessity.  The  broad  windows  were  trellised  with 


The   Round-Up  123 

vines,  through  which  filtered  the  sunshine.  A  cooling 
evening  breeze  stirred  the  leaves  lazily.  The  chairs 
were  broad  and  comfortable — the  workmanship  of  the 
monks  of  the  neighboring  mission.  In  the  corners 
stood  squat,  earthern  water- jars  of  Mexican  molding. 
On  the  adobe  walls  were  hung  trophies  of  the  hunt; 
war-bonnets  and  the  crudely  made  adornments  of  the 
Apaches.  Navajo  blankets  covered  the  window-seats, 
and  were  used  as  screens  for  sets  of  shelves  built  into 
the  spaces  between  the  windows. 

Polly  carried  in  on  a  tray  a  large  bowl  of  punch 
surrounded  by  glasses  and  gourds.  This  was  received 
with  riotous  demonstrations.  She  placed  it  in  the 
center  of  a  table  made  of  planks  laid  on  trestles,  and, 
assisted  by  the  other  girls,  served  the  men  liberally 
from  the  bowl. 

The  guests  showed  the  effects  of  outdoor  life  and 
training.  Their  gestures  were  full  and  free.  The 
tones  of  their  voices  were  high-pitched,  but  they  spoke 
more  slowly  than  their  Eastern  cousins,  as  if  feeling 
the  necessity,  even  when  confined,  of  making  every 
word  carry.  No  one  lolled  in  his  seat,  but  sat  upright, 
as  if  still  having  the  feel  of  the  saddle  under  him. 


124  The   Round-Up 

Toward  women  in  all  social  gatherings,  the  cowboys 
act  with  exaggerated  chivalry,  but,  as  Sage-brush 
would  describe  it,  they  "herd  by  their  lonesome."  There 
is  none  of  the  commingling  of  sexes  seen  in  the  East. 
At  a  dance  the  girls  sit  at  one  end  of  the  room,  while 
the  men  group  themselves  about  the  doorway  until 
the  music  strikes  up.  Then  each  will  seize  his  partner, 
after  the  boldest  has  made  the  first  move.  When  the 
dance-measure  ends  the  cowboy  will  rarely  escort  his 
partner  to  her  seat,  but  will  leave  her  to  find  her  way 
to  her  chum,  while  he  moves  sheepishly  back  to  the 
doorway,  to  be  received  by  his  fellows  with  slaps  on 
the  back  and  loud  jests.  At  table  cowboys  carry  on 
little  conversation  with  the  girls.  They  talk  among 
themselves,  but  at  the  women.  The  presence  of  the 
girls  leads  them  to  play  many  pranks  on  one  another. 
The  ice  is  long  in  breaking,  for  their  habitual  reserve 
is  not  easily  worn  off.  Later  in  the  evening  this  shy- 
ness is  less  marked. 

As  Jack  and  Echo  entered  the  doorway,  Paren- 
thesis had  arisen  from  his  seat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  and  was  beginning:  "Fellow  citizens " 

Confused  cries  of  "Sit  down,"  "Let  him  talk,'* 
greeted  him. 


The   Round-Up  125 

Sage-brush  held  up  his  hand  for  silence:  "Go 
ahead,  Parenthesis,"  he  cried  encouragingly. 

Parenthesis  climbed  on  a  chair  and  put  a  foot  on 
the  table.  This  was  too  much  for  the  orderly  soul  of 
Mrs.  Allen.  "Take  your  dirty  feet  off  my  table- 
cloth!" she  commanded,  making  a  threatening  move 
toward  the  offender. 

Allen  restrained  her,  and  Fresno  caused  Parenthesis 
to  subside  by  yelling :  "Get  down  offen  that  table,  you 
idiot.  There's  the  bride  an'  groom  comin'  in  behind 
you.  We  can  see  'em  through  yer  legs,  but  we  don't 
like  that  kin'  of  a  frame." 

Jack  had  slipped  his  arm  about  Echo's  waist.  She 
was  holding  his  hand,  smiling  at  the  exuberance  of 
their  guests.  Buck  McKee,  who  had  been  drinking 
freely,  staggered  to  his  feet  and  hiccoughed:  "Here, 
now,  this  yere  don't  go — this  spoonin'  business — there 
ain't  goin'  to  be  no  mush  and  milk  served  out  before 
the  weddin' " 

"Will  you  shut  up?"  admonished  Slim  Hoover. 

"No,  siree,"  cried  the  belligerent  McKee.  "There 
ain't  no  man  here  can  shut  me  up.  I'm  Buck  Mc- 
Kee, I  am,  and  when  I  starts  in  on  a  weddin'-festivi- 
ties— I  deal " 


The   Round-Up 


"This  is  one  game  you  are  not  in  on,"  answered 
Jack  quietly,  feeling  that  he  would  have  to  take  the 
lead  in  the  settlement  of  the  unfortunate  interruption 
of  the  fun. 

"That's  all  right,  Jack,"  McKee  began,  holding  out 
his  hand  —  "let  bygones  -  " 

Jack  was  in  no  mood  to  parley  with  the  offender. 
McKee  had  not  been  invited  to  the  wedding.  The 
young  bridegroom  knew  that  if  the  first  offense  was 
overlooked  it  would  only  encourage  him,  and  he  would 
make  trouble  all  evening.  Moreover,  he  disliked  Buck 
because  of  his  evil  habits  and  ugly  record. 

"You  came  to  this  weddin'  without  an  invite,"  ex- 
claimed Jack. 

"I'm  here,"  he  growled. 

"You're  not  wanted." 

"What?"  shouted  McKee,  paling  with  anger. 

Turning  to  his  friends,  speaking  calmly  and  paying 
no  attention  to  the  aroused  desperado,  Jack  said: 
"Boys,  you  all  know  my  objection  to  this  man.  Dick 
Lane  caught  him  spring  before  last  slitting  the  tongue 
of  one  of  Uncle  Jim's  calves." 

"It's  a  lie!"  shouted  McKee,  pulling  his  revolver 
and  attempting  to  level  it  at  his  accuser.  Hoover  was 


The   Round-Up  127 

too  quick  for  him.  Catching  him  by  the  wrist,  he 
deftly  forced  him  to  drop  the  muzzle  toward  the  floor. 

With  frightened  cries  the  girls  huddled  in  a  corner. 
The  other  cowboys  upset  chairs,  springing  to  their  feet, 
drawing  revolvers  half-way  from  hostlers  as  they 
did  so. 

Hoover  had  pressed  his  thumb  into  the  back  of  Mc- 
Kee's  hand,  forcing  him  to  open  his  fingers  and  drop 
his  gun  on  the  table.  Picking  it  up,  Hoover  snapped 
the  weapon  open,  emptied  the  cylinders  of  the  car- 
tridges. 

Jack  made  no  move  to  defend  himself.  He  was 
aware  his  friends  could  protect  him. 

"That'll  do,"  he  said  to  the  raging,  disarmed 
puncher.  "You  can  go,  Buck.  When  I  want  you  in 
any  festivities,  I'll  send  a  special  invite  to  you." 

"I'm  sure  much  obliged,"  sneered  McKee,  making 
his  way  toward  the  door. 

"Here's  your  gun,"  cried  Slim,  tossing  the  weapon 
toward  him. 

McKee  caught  the  weapon,  muttering  "Thanks." 

"It  needs  cleaning,"  sneered  the  Sheriff. 

Turning  at  the  doorway,  McKee  said :  "I  ain't 
much  stuck  on  weddin's,  aryway."  Looking  at  Jack, 


128  TheRound-Up 

he  continued  threateningly :  "Next  time  we  meet  it'll 
be  at  a  little  swaree  of  my  own." 

"Get,"  was  Jack's  laconic  and  ominous  command. 

With  assumed  carelessness,  McKee  answered :  "I'm 
a-gettin'.  Well,  gents,  I  hopes  you  all'll  enjoy  this 
yere  pink  tea.  Say,  Bud,  put  a  piece  of  weddin'-cake 
in  your  pocket  for  me.  I  wants  to  dream  on  it." 

"Who  brought  him  here?"  asked  Jack,  facing  hii 
guests. 

"I  did,"  answered  Bud  defiantly. 

"You  might  have  known  better,"  was  Jack's  onl/ 
comment. 

"I'm  not  a-sayin'  who's  to  come  and  go.  This  ain't 
none  of  my  weddin'." 

Polly  stopped  further  comment  by  laying  hei  hand 
over  his  mouth  and  slipping  into  the  seat  beside  him. 

"Well,  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  Jack,  closing  the  in- 
cident. 

He  rejoined  Echo  as  he  spoke.  The  guests  reseated 
themselves.  Mrs.  Allen  laid  her  hand  on  Jack's  shoul- 
der and  said :  "Just  the  same,  it  ain't  vight  and  proper 
for  you  to  be  together  before  the  ceremony  without 
a  chaperonie." 


The   Round-Up  129 

"Nothin'  that's  right  nice  is  ever  right  proper," 
laughed  Slim. 

"Well,  it  ain't  the  way  folks  does  back  East,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Allen  tartly,  glaring  at  the  Sheriff. 

"Blast  the  East,"  growled  Allen.  "We  does  things 
in  our  own  way  out  here." 

With  a  mischievous  smile,  Slim  glanced  at  his  com- 
rades, and  then  solemnly  observed :  "Still,  I  hear  they 
does  make  the  two  contractin'-parties  sit  off  alone  by 
themselves ' ' 

"What  for?"  asked  Jack. 

"Why,  to  give  them  the  last  bit  of  quiet  enjoyment 
they're  goin'  to  have  for  the  rest  of  their  lives," 
chuckled  Slim. 

The  cowboys  laughed  hilariously  at  the  sally,  but 
Mrs.  Allen,  throwing  her  arms  about  Echo's  neck, 
burst  into  tears,  crying:  "My  little  girl." 

"What's  the  use  of  opening  up  the  sluices  now, 
Josephine?" 

"Let  her  alone,  Jim,"  drawled  Slim;  "her  feelin's 
is  harrowed  some,  an'  irrigation  is  what  they  needs 
most." 

The  outburst  of  tears  was  incomprehensible  to  the 
bridegroom.  Already  irritated  by  the  McKee  incident, 


130  TheRound-Up 

he  took  affront  at  the  display  of  sentiment.  He  cried : 
"I  don't  want  any  crying  at  my  wedding." 

"It's  half  my  wedding,"  pouted  Echo  tearfully. 

"Ain't  I  losin'  my  daughter,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Allen. 

"Ain't  you  getting  my  mother's  son  ?"  snapped  Jack. 

The  men  howled  with  glee  at  the  rude  badinage, 
which  only  called  forth  a  fresh  burst  of  weeping  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Allen,  in  which  the  girls  began  to 
show  symptoms  of  joining. 

Polly  sought  to  soothe  the  trouble  by  pushing  Jack 
playfully  to  one  side,  and  saying:  "Oh,  stop  it  all. 
Look  here,  Echo  Allen,  you  know  your  hair  ain't 
fixed  yet." 

"An*  the  minister  due  here  at  any  minute,"  added 
Mrs.  Allen. 

"Come  along,  we  will  take  charge  of  you  now,"  or- 
dered Polly.  The  girls  gathered  in  a  group  about  the 
bride,  bustling  and  chattering,  telling  her  all  men  were 
brutes  at  times,  and,  looking  at  the  fat  Sheriff,  who 
blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  at  the  charge,  that 
"Slim  Hoover  was  the  worst  of  the  lot."  Mrs.  Allen 
pushed  them  away,  and  again  fell  weeping  on  Echo's 
shoulder.  "Hold  on  now.  They  ain't  a  soul  goin'  to  do 
nothin'  for  her  except  her  mother,"  she  whimpered. 


The   Round-Up 


"There  she  goes  again,"  said  Jack,  in  disgust. 

"He's  goin'  to  take  my  child  away  from  me,"  wailed 
the  mother. 

Tears  were  streaming  down  Echo's  cheek.  "Don't 
cry,  mother,"  she  wept. 

"No,  no,  don't  cry,"  echoed  the  girls. 

"It's  all  for  the  best,"  began  Polly. 

"It's  all  for  the  best,  it's  all  for  the  best,"  chorused 
the  group. 

"Well,  I'll  be  --  "  gasped  Jack. 

"Jack  Pay  son  you  just  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,"  said  Polly,  stamping  her  foot.  "You  nasty, 
mean  old  thing,"  she  threw  in  for  good  measure. 

Mrs.  Allen  led  Echo  from  the  room.  The  girls 
followed,  crying  "You  nasty,  mean  old  thing"  to  the 
unfortunate  bridegroom. 

The  cowboys  enjoyed  the  scene  immensely.  It  was 
a  bit  of  human  comedy,  totally  unexpected.  First 
they  imitated  the  weeping  women,  and  then  laughed 
uproariously  at  Jack. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  darned  carryings  on,"  said 
the  bridegroom,  in  disgust.  "What  have  I  done?" 

"Shucks!  All  mothers  is  like  that,"  remarked  Allen 
sympathetically.  "They  fuss  if  their  girls  marry,  and 


132  TheRound-Up 

they  fuss  if  they  don't.  Why,  my  ma  carried  on  some- 
thing scandalous  when  Josephine  roped  me." 

All  of  the  men  chuckled  except  Jack. 

"I'm  appointed  a  committee,"  continued  the  old 
rancher,  "to  sit  up  with  you  till  the  fatal  moment." 

"I'm  game,"  responded  Jack  grimly.  "I  know 
what's  coming,  but  I  won't  squeal." 

"You'll  git  all  that's  a-comin'  to  you,"  grinned  Allen. 

Slim  had  maneuvered  until  he  reached  the  door 
blocking  Jack's  way.  As  the  bridegroom  started  to 
leave  the  room  he  took  his  hand,  and  with  an  assump- 
tion of  deep  dejection  and  sorrow  bade  him  "Good- 
bye." 

"Oh,  dry  up!"  laughed  Jack,  pushing  the  Sheriff 
aside.  Halting,  he  requested :  "One  thing  I  want  to 
understand  right  now,  if  you're  goin'  to  fling  any  old 
boots  after  me-^remove  the  spurs." 

"This  yere's  a  sure  enough  event,  an'  I'm  goin'  to 
tap  the  barrel — an'  throw  away  the  bung.  Wow!" 
shouted  Sage-brush. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Sky  Pilot. 

With  the  waves  of  immigration  which  have  rolled 
Westward  from  the  more  populous  East,  the  minister 
of  the  gospel  has  always  been  in  the  van.  Often  he 
combined  the  functions  of  the  school-teacher  with  the 
duties  of  the  medical  missionary.  Wherever  a  dozen 
families  had  settled  within  a  radius  of  a  hundred 
miles,  the  representative  of  a  church  was  soon  to  fol- 
low. He  preached  no  creed.  His  doctrines  were  as 
wide  as  the  horizon.  Living  in  the  open  air,  preach- 
ing to  congregations  gathered  from  the  ends  of  the 
country,  dealing  with  men  more  unconventional  thar 
immoral,  his  sermons  were  concerned  with  the  square 
deal  rather  than  with  dogma.  His  influences  were  in- 
calculable. He  made  ready  the  field  for  the  reapers 
who  gathered  the  glory  with  the  advance  of  refine- 
ment. On  the  frontier  he  married  the  children,  buried 
the  dead,  consoled  the  mourners,  and  rejoiced  with 
those  upon  whom  fortune  smiled.  His  hardships  were 
many  and  his  rewards  nothing.  Of  all  the  fields  of 


human  endeavor  which  built  up  the  West,  the  ministry 
is  the  only  one  in  which  the  material  returns  have  not 
been  commensurate  with  the  labor  expended. 

The  Reverend  Samuel  Price  was  the  representative 
of  the  Christian  army  in  Final  County,  Arizona,  at 
the  time  of  our  story.  He  was  long  and  lank,  narrow 
in  the  chest,  with  sloping  shoulders.  Even  life  on  the 
plains  could  not  eradicate  the  scholarly  droop.  His 
trousers  were  black,  and  they  bagged  at  the  knees. 
When  riding,  his  trousers  would  work  up  about  his 
calves,  showing  a  wide  expanse  of  white  socks.  For 
comfort  he  wore  an  alpaca  coat,  which  hung  loosely 
about  him,  and,  for  the  dignity  of  his  profession,  the 
only  boiled  shirt  in  the  county,  with  a  frayed  collar 
and  white  string-tie. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Price  was  liked  by  the  settlers. 
He  never  interfered  with  what  they  considered  their 
relaxations,  and  he  had  the  saving  grace  of  humor. 

The  guests  were  performing  a  scalp-dance  about  the 
table  when  he  entered  the  room.  For  a  tom-tom, 
Parenthesis  was  beating  a  bucket  with  a  gourd,  and 
emitting  strange  cries  with  each  thump.  The  noise 
and  shouts  confused  the  minister.  As  he  was  blunder- 
ing among  the  dancers,  they  fell  upon  him  with  war- 


TheRound-Up  '35 

whoops,  slapping  him  on  the  back  and  crushing  his 
straw  hat  over  his  ears. 

Slim  was  the  first  to  recognize  the  minister.  He 
dashed  into  the  group,  and,  swinging  several  aside, 
cried  to  the  others  to  desist. 

"Pardon  me,  but  do  I  intrude  upon  a  scalp-dance?" 
smilingly  asked  the  parson. 

"You  sure  have,  Mr.  Price,"  laughed  Slim.  "We 
hain't  got  to  the  scalpin'-part  yet,  but  we're  fixin'  to 
dance  off  Payson's  scalp  to-night." 

Peering  at  him  with  near-sighted  eyes,  Mr.  Price 
extended  his  hand,  saying:  "Ah,  Mr.  Hoover,  our 
sheriff,  is  it  not?" 

Slim  wrung  the  parson's  hand  until  the  preacher 
winced.  Hiding  his  discomfort,  he  slowly  straight- 
ened out  his  fingers  with  a  painful  grin.  Slim  had  not 
noticed  that  he  had  hurt  the  parson  by  the  heartiness 
of  his  greeting.  With  a  gesture  he  lined  up  the  tow- 
boys  for  introduction. 

"Yes,  sir,  the  boys  call  me  Slim  because  I  ain't." 
Pointing  to  the  first  one  in  the  group,  he  exclaimed: 
"This  is  Parenthesis." 

Mr.  Price  looked  at  the  awkwardly  bowing  cowboy 
in  amazement.  The  name  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  He 


TheRound-Up 


could  not  grasp  the  application.  "The  editor  of  the 
Kicker,"  explained  Slim,  "called  him  that  because  of 
his  legs  bein'  built  that  way."  Mr.  Price  was  forced 
to  smile  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  be  polite.  The  editor 
had  grasped  the  most  striking  feature  of  the  puncher's 
physical  characteristics  for  a  label. 

Parenthesis  beamed  on  the  minister.  "I  was  born 
on  horseback,"  he  replied. 

"That  fellow  there  with  a  front  tooth  is  Show 
Low,"  began  Slim,  speaking  like  a  lecturer  in  a  freak- 
show.  "The  one  without  a  front  tooth  is  Fresno,  a 
California  product.  This  yere  chap  with  the  water- 
dob  hair  is  Sage-brush  Charley.  It  makes  him  sore 
when  you  call  him  plain  Charley." 

"Charley  bein'  a  Chink  name,"  supplemented  its 
owner. 

Silence  fell  over  the  group,  for  they  did  not  know 
what  was  the  proper  thing  to  do  next.  A  minister  was 
to  be  respected,  and  not  to  be  made  one  of  them.  He 
must  take  the  lead  in  the  conversation.  Mr.  Price  was 
at  a  loss  how  to  begin.  He  had  not  recovered  fully 
from  the  roughness  of  his  welcome,  so  Slim  took  the 
lead  again. 

"I  heard  you  preach  once  up  to  Florence,"  he  an- 


TheRound-Up 


nounced,  to  the  profound  astonishment  of  his  hearers. 

"Indeed,"  politely  responded  Mr.  Price,  feeling  the 
futility  of  making  any  further  observation.  He  feared 
to  fall  into  some  trap.  The  answers  made  by  the  boys 
did  not  seem  to  fit  particularly  well  with  what  he  ex- 
pected and  was  accustomed  to.  The  parson  could  not 
make  out  whether  the  boys  were  joking  with  him,  or 
whether  their  replies  were  unconscious  humor  on  their 
part. 

"Yep,  I  lost  an  election  bet,  and  had  to  go  to 
church,"  answered  Slim,  in  all  seriousness. 

The  cowboys  laughed,  and  Mr.  Price  lamely  replied  : 
"Oh,  yes,  I  see." 

"It  was  a  good  show,"  continued  Slim,  doing  his 
best  to  appear  at  ease.  The  frantic  corrections  of  his 
companions  only  made  him  flounder  about  the  more. 
"Excuse  me,"  he  apologized,  "I  mean  that  I  enjoyed 
it." 

"Do  you  recall  the  subject  of  my  discourse,"  in- 
quired Mr.  Price,  coming  to  his  assistance. 

"Your  what  course?"  asked  Slim. 

"My  sermon?"  answered  the  parson. 

"Well,  I  should  say  yes,"  replied  the  Sheriff,  great- 
ly relieved  to  think  that  he  was  once  more  out  of  deep 


138  The    Round-Up 

water.  "It  was  about  some  shorthorn  that  jumped 
the  home  corral  to  maverick  around  loose  in  the  al- 
falfa with  a  bunch  of  wild  ones." 

The  explanation  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Price. 
Great  student  of  the  Bible  as  he  had  been,  here  was 
one  lesson  which  he  had  not  studied.  As  told  by  Slim, 
he  could  not  recall  any  text  or  series  of  texts  from 
which  he  might  have  drawn  similes  fitted  for  his  cow- 
boy congregation,  when  he  had  one.  "Really,  I — = — " 
he  began. 

Slim,  however,  was  not  to  be  interrupted.  If  he 
stopped  he  never  could  begin  again,  he  felt.  Waving 
to  the  preacher  to  be  silent,  he  continued  his  descrip- 
tion :  "When  his  wad  was  gone  the  bunch  threw  him 
down,  and  he  had  to  hike  for  the  sage-brush  an'  feed 
with  the  hogs  on  husks  an'  sech  like  winter  fodder." 

The  minister  caught  the  word  "husks."  Slim  was 
repeating  his  own  version  of  the  parable  of  the  Prodi- 
gal Son. 

"Husks?    Oh,  the  Prodigal  Son,"  smiled  Price. 

"That's  him,"  Slim  sighed,  with  relief.  "This  yere 
feed  not  being  up  to  grade,  Prod  he  'lows  he'd  pull  his 
freight  back  home,  square  himself  with  the  old  man, 
and  start  a  new  deal " 


The    Round-Up  139 

Sage-brush  was  deeply  interested  in  the  story.  Its 
charm  had  attracted  him  as  it  had  scholars  and  out- 
casts alike  since  first  told  two  thousand  years  ago  on 
the  plains  of  Old  Judea. 

"Did  he  stand  for  it?"  he  interrupted. 

"He  sure  did,"  eloquently  replied  Slim,  who  was 
surprised  and  delighted  with  the  great  impression  he 
was  making  with  his  experience  at  church.  "Oh,  he 
was  a  game  old  buck,  he  was.  Why,  the  minute  he 
sighted  that  there  prodigious  son  a-limpin'  across  the 
mesa,  he  ran  right  out  an'  fell  on  his  neck " 

"An'  broke  it,"  cried  Fresno,  slapping  Sage-brush 
with  his  hat  in  his  delight  at  getting  at  the  climax  of 
the  story  before  Slim  reached  it. 

The  narrator  cast  a  glance  of  supreme  disgust  at 
the  laughing  puncher.  "No,  what  the  hell!"  he 
shouted.  "He  hugged  him.  Then  he  called  in  the 
neighbors,  barbecued  a  yearlin'  calf,  an'  give  a  barn- 
dance,  with  fireworks  in  the  evenin'." 

"That's  all  right  in  books,"  observed  Sage-brush, 
"but  if  I'd  made  a  break  like  that  when  I  was  a  kid 
my  old  man  would  a  fell  on  my  neck  for  fair." 

"That  was  a  good  story,  Parson — it's  straight,  ain't 
it  r"  asked  Slim,  as  a  wave  of  doubt  swept  over  him. 


140  The   Round-Up 

"It's  gospel  truth,"  answered  the  minister.  "Do 
you  know  the  moral  of  the  story?" 

"Sure,"  replied  Slim.  With  a  confidence  born  of 
deep  self-assurance,  Slim  launched  the  answer :  "Don't 
be  a  fatted  calf." 

At  first  his  hearers  did  not  grasp  the  full  force  of 
the  misapplication  of  the  parable.  Mr.  Price  could  not 
refrain  from  laughing.  The  others  joined  with  him 
when  the  humor  of  the  reply  dawned  upon  them. 
Pointing  scornfully  at  the  fat  Sheriff,  they  shouted 
gleefully,  while  Slim  blushed  through  his  tan. 

"Now,  if  you'll  kindly  show  me  where "  began 

Mr.  Price. 

"Sure.  All  the  liquor's  in  the  kitchen "  said 

Sage-brush,  expanding  with  hospitality. 

Slim  pushed  Sage-brush  back  into  his  chair,  and 
Parenthesis  tapped  the  minister  on  the  shoulder  to  dis- 
tract his  attention. 

"Thanks.  I  meant  to  ask  for  a  place  to  change  my 
clothes." 

"Sure  you  mustn't  mind  Sage-brush  there,"  apolo- 
gized Parenthesis;  "he's  allus  makin'  breaks.  Let  me 
tote  your  war-bag.  Walk  this  way." 

"Good  day,  gentlemen,"  smiled  Mr.  Price.    "When 


The    Round-Up  141 

you  are  up  my  way,  I  trust  you  will  honor  my  church 
with  your  presence" — adding,  after  a  pause — "with- 
out waiting  to  lose  an  election  bet." 

The  entrance  of  a  Greaser  to  refill  glasses  diverted 
the  attention  of  the  guests  until  the  most  important 
function  for  them  was  performed.  With  "hows"  and 
"here's  to  the  bride,"  they  drank  the  toast.  Slim,  as 
majordomo  of  the  feast,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him- 
self to  keep  the  others  in  order.  Turning  angrily  upon 
Sage-brush,  he  said.  "Why  did  you  tell  the  Sky  Pilot 
where  the  liquor  was  ?" 

"I  was  just  tryin'  to  do  the  right  thing,"  answered 
Sage-brush  defiantly. 

"Embarrassin'  us  all  like  that.  You  ought  to  know 
that  parsons  don't  hit  up  the  gasoline — in  public," 
scolded  Slim. 

Sage  muttered  sulkily:  "I  never  herded  with  par- 
jOns  none." 

Parenthesis  diplomatically  avoided  any  further  con- 
troversy by  calling:  "They're  gettin'  ready.  Jim's 
got  Jack  in  the  back  room  tryin'  to  cheer  him  up. 
Boys,  is  everything  ready  for  the  getaway?" 

"Sage-brush,  did  you  get  that  rice?"  demanded 
Slim. 


TheRound-Up 


"That's  so  —  I  forgot.  I  couldn't  get  no  rice, 
though.  Dawson  didn't  have  none." 

Without  telling  what  he  did  get,  Sage-brush  ran 
from  the  room  to  the  corral. 

"I  told  you  not  to  let  him  have  anything  to  do  with 
it,"  said  Fresno,  glaring  at  his  fellow  workers.  Each 
was  silent,  as  the  accusation  was  general,  and  none  had 
been  taken  into  the  confidence  of  Sage-brush  and 
Fresno  when  arrangements  were  being  made  for  the 
feast.  Fresno  had  to  blame  some  one,  however.  By 
this  time  Sage-brush  had  returned,  carrying  a  bag. 

"What  did  you  get?"  asked  Slim. 

"Corn,"  replied  Sage-brush  laconically. 

"Ain't  he  the  darndest!"  Show  Low  expressed  the 
'disgust  which  the  others  showed. 

"Why,  darn  it,"  shouted  Slim,  shaking  his  fist  at  the 
unfortunate  Sage-brush,  "you  can't  let  the  bride  and 
groom  hop  the  home  ranch  without  chuckin'  rice  at 
'em  —  it's  bad  medicine." 

"Ain't  he  disgustin'  !"  interrupted  Fresno. 

"What  does  rice  mean,  anyhow?"  asked  the  bewil- 
dered Sage-brush. 

"It  means  something  about  wishin'  'em  good  luck, 
health,  wealth,  an'  prosperity,  an'  all  that  sort  of  thing 


The    Round- Up  143. 

— it's  a  sign  an'   symbol  of  joy,"   rattled  off  Slim. 

"Well,  now,  ain't  there  more  joy  in  corn  than  in 
rice?"  triumphantly  asked  Sage-brush. 

Slim  jerked  open  the  top  of  the  bag  while  Sage- 
brush stood  by  helplessly.  "Well,  the  darned  idiot!" 
he  muttered,  as  he  peered  into  it.  "If  he  ain't  gone 
and  got  it  on  the  ear,"  he  continued,  as  he  pulled  a  big 
ear  out 

"All  the  better,"  chuckled  Sage-brush.  "We'll 
chuck  'em  joy  in  bunches." 

"Don't  you  know  that  if  you  hit  the  bride  with  a 
club  like  this — you'll  put  her  plumb  out?"  cried  Slim. 

Sage-brush  was  not  cast  down,  however.  Always 
resourceful,  he  suggested:  "We'll  shell  some  for  the 
bride,  but  we'll  hand  Jack  his  in  bunches." 

The  idea  appealing  to  the  punchers,  each  grabbed  an 
ear  of  corn.  Some  brandished  the  ears  like  clubs; 
others  aimed  them  like  revolvers. 

"I'll  keep  this  one,"  said  Slim,  picking  out  an  un- 
usually large  ear.  "It's  a  .44.  I'll  get  one  of  the 
Greasers  to  shell  some  for  the  bride." 

The  bride  was  arrayed  in  her  wedding-gown.  Mrs. 
Allen  was  ready  for  a  fresh  burst  of  weeping.  The 
girls  had  assembled  in  the  large  room  in  which  the 


144  The   Round-Up 

ceremony  was  to  be  performed.  Polly  acted  as  herald 
for  the  cowboys.  Appearing  in  the  doorway,  she  com- 
manded :  "Say,  you  folks  come  on  and  get  seated." 

Slim  stood  beside  Polly  as  the  boys  marched  past 
him.  His  general  admonition  was :  "The  first  one  of 
you  shorthorns  that  makes  a  break,  I'm  goin'  to  bend 
a  gun  over  your  head." 

The  guests  grinned  cheerfully  as  they  marched  past 
the  couple. 

"There's  a  heap  of  wickedness  in  that  bunch,"  re- 
marked Slim  piously  to  the  girl.  Tossing  a  flower  to 
him  as  she  darted  away,  she  cried:  "You  ain't  none 
too  good  yourself,  Slim." 

"Ain't  she  a  likely  filly,"  mused  the  love-sick  Sheriff. 
"If  there's  anybody  that  could  make  me  good,  it's  her. 
I'm  all  in.  If  ever  I  get  the  nerve  all  at  once — darn 
me  if  I  don't  ask  her  right  out." 

But  Slim's  courage  oozed  as  quickly  as  it  had  arisen, 
and  with  a  sigh  he  followed  his  companions  to  the 
wedding. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

What  God  Hath  Joined  Together. 

Dick  Lane,  on  leaving  the  hospital  at  Chihuahua, 
went  straight  to  the  fortified  ledge  where  he  had  made 
his  heroic  defense.  As  he  conjectured,  the  renegade, 
McKee,  had  got  there  first,  and  found  and  made  off 
with  the  buried  treasure.  So  Dick  manfully  set  to 
work  to  replace  his  lost  fortune.  It  seemed  too  slow 
work  to  go  to  his  mine  and  dig  the  gold  he  imme- 
diately required  out  of  the  ground,  so  he  struck  out  for 
civilization  to  sell  some  of  his  smaller  claims.  In  the 
course  of  a  month,  at  the  end  of  which  his  wander- 
ings brought  him  to  Tucson,  he  had  sold  enough  of  his 
holdings  to  give  him  three  thousand  dollars  in  ready 
cash.  As  he  was  near  the  Sweetwater,  he  resolved  not 
to  express  the  money  to  Payson,  but  to  take  it  himself. 

He  entered  the  courtyard  of  Allen  Hacienda  while 
the  wedding  was  taking  place  within.  None  of  his 
friends  would  have  recognized  him.  His  frame  was 
emaciated  from  sickness ;  his  head  was  drawn  back  by 
the  torture  which  he  had  suffered;  he  limped  upon 


146  The   Round-Up 

feet  that  had  been  distorted  by  the  firebrands  in  Mo 
Kee's  hands;  and  his  face  was  overgrown  by  an  un- 
kempt beard. 

Sounds  of  laughter  fell  upon  his  ears  as  he  mounted 
the  steps.  He  heard  Fresno  shout  to  Slim  to  hurry 
up,  as  he  was  telling  the  story  "about  a  fellow  that 
was  so  tanked  up  he  could  not  say  "sasaparilla." 

Dick  halted.  "There  must  be  some  sort  of  a  party 
going  on  here,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "It  won't  do 
to  take  Echo  too  much  by  surprise.  If  Jack  got  my 
letter  and  told  her,  it's  all  right,  but  if  it  miscarried — 
the  shock  might  kill  her.  I'll  see  Jack  first." 

Dick  had  ridden  first  to  Sweetwater  Ranch,  but 
found  the  place  deserted.  The  party,  he  mused,  ac- 
counted for  this.  While  he  was  planning  a  way  to 
attract  the  attention  of  some  one  in  the  house,  and 
to  get  Payson  to  the  garden  without  letting  Echo 
know  of  his  presence,  Sage-brush  Charley,  who  had 
espied  the  stranger  through  the  window,  sauntered  out 
on  the  porch  to  investigate.  Every  visitor  to  the  Ter- 
ritory needed  looking  over,  especially  after  the  trouble 
with  Buck  McKee. 

Sage-brush  was  bound  that  there  should  be  no  hitch 
at  the  wedding  of  his  boss. 


TheRound-Up  H7 

"Howdy,"  greeted  Lane  pleasantly.  "I'm  looking 
for  Jack  Pay  son." 

"That  so?"  answered  Sage-brush.  "Who  may  you 
be?" 

"I'm  a  friend  of  his." 

The  foreman  could  see  no  danger  to  come  from  this 
weak,  sickly  man.  "Then  walk  right  in,"  he  invited; 
"he's  inside." 

Sage-brush  was  about  to  reenter  the  house,  when 
Dick  halted  him  with  the  request:  "I  want  to  see 
him  out  here — privately. 

"What's  the  name,"  asked  Sage-brush,  his  suspi- 
cions returning. 

"Tell  him  an  old  friend  from  Mexico." 

Sage-brush  did  not  like  the  actions  of  the  stranger 
and  his  secrecy.  He  was  there  to  fight  his  boss's  bat- 
tles, if  he  had  any.  This  was  not  in  the  contract,  but 
it  was  a  part  read  into  the  paper  by  Sage-brush. 

"Say,  my  name's  Sage-brush  Charley,"  he  cried, 
with  a  show  of  importance.  "I'm  ranch-boss  for  Pay- 
son.  If  you  want  to  settle  any  old  claim  agin'  Jack, 
I'm  actin'  as  his  substitoot  for  him  this  evenin'." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Lane,  with  a  smile  at  Sage- 
brush's outbreak,  "he  has  a  claim  against  me." 


148  TheRound-Up 

It  was  such  a  pleasant,  kindly  look  he  gave  Sage- 
brush, that  the  foreman  was  disarmed  completely. 

"I'll  tell  him,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder. 

Dick  mused  over  the  changes  that  had  occurred 
since  he  had  left  the  region.  Two  years'  absence  from 
a  growing  country  means  new  faces,  new  ranches,  and 
the  wiping  out  of  old  landmarks  with  the  advance 
of  population  and  the  invasion  of  the  railroad.  He 
wondered  if  Jack  would  know  him  with  his  beard. 
He  knew — his  mirror  told  him — that  his  appearance 
had  changed  greatly,  and  he  looked  twenty  years  older 
than  on  the  day  he  left  the  old  home  ranch. 

His  trend  of  thought  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Jack  on  the  porch  from  the  house. 

"My  name's  Payson,"  Jack  began  hurriedly,  casting 
a  hasty  glance  backward  into  the  hallway,  for  the  cere- 
mony was  about  to  begin.  "You  want  to  see  me  ?" 

"Jack!"  cried  Dick,  holding  out  his  hand  eagerly. 
"Jack,  old  man,  don't  you  know  me?"  he  continued 
falteringly,  seeing  no  sign  of  recognition  in  his  friend's 
eyes. 

Payson  gasped,  shocked  and  startled.  The  man  be- 
fore him  was  a  stranger  in  looks,  but  the  voice — the 
voice  was  that  of  Dick  Lane,  the  last  man  in  the  world 


The    Round-Up  J49 

he  wanted  to  see  at  that  moment.  Frightened,  almost 
betraying  himself,  he  glanced  at  the  half-open  door. 
If  Dick  entered  he  knew  Echo  would  be  lost  to  him. 
She  might  love  him  truly,  and  her  love  for  Dick  might 
have  passed  away,  but  he  knew  that  Echo  would  never 
forgive  him  for  the  deception  that  he  had  practised 
upon  her. 

Grasping  his  friend's  hand  weakly,  he  faltered, 
"Dick!  Dick  Lane!" 

Jack  realized  he  must  act  quickly.  Some  way  or 
somehow  Dick  must  be  kept  out  of  the  house  until 
after  the  marriage.  Then  he,  Jack,  must  take  the  con- 
sequences. Dick  saw  his  hesitation.  It  was  not  what 
he  had  expected.  But  something  dreadful  might  have 
happened  while  he  was  away,  there  had  been  so  many 
changes. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"You  got  my  letter?  You  knew  I  was  coming?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  lamely  answered  Jack.  "But  I 
expected  notice — you  know  you  said " 

"I  couldn't  wait.  Jack,  I'm  a  rich  man,  thanks  to 
you " 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right,"  said  Payson,  disclaiming 


150  The    Round-Up 

the  praise  of  the  man  he  had  so  grievously  wronged 
with  a  hurried  acknowledgment  of  his  gratitude. 

"And  I  hurried  back  for  fear  Echo -" 

"Oh.  yes.  I'll  tell  her  about  it,  when  she's  ready  to 
hear  it." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Jack?  Are  you  keeping 
something  from  me?  Where  is  she?" 

"In  there,"  said  Payson  feebly,  pointing  to  the  door. 

Dick  eagerly  started  toward  the  house,  but  Jack 
halted  him,  saying:  "No — you  mustn't  go  in  now. 
There's  a  party — you  see,  she  hasn't  been  well,  doesn't 
expect  you  to-night.  The  shock  might  be  too  much 
for  her." 

Jack  grasped  at  the  lame  excuse.  It  was  the  first 
to  come  to  his  mind.  He  must  think  quickly.  This 
experience  was  tearing  the  heart  out  of  him.  He  could 
not  save  himself  from  betrayal  much  longer. 

"You're  right,"  acquiesced  Dick.  "You  tell  her 
when  you  get  a  chance.  Jack,  as  I  was  saying,  I've 
made  quite  a  bit  of  money  out  of  my  Bisbee  holdings. 
I  can  pay  back  my  stake  to  you  now." 

"Not  now,"  said  Jack  nervously. 

Would  this  torture  never  end?  Here  was  his  friend, 
whom  he  had  betrayed,  come  back  in  the  very  hour  of 


The   Round-Up 


his  marriage  to  the  woman  who  had  promised  first  to 
marry  him.  Now  he  was  offering  him  money,  which 
Jack  needed  badly,  for  his  prospective  mother-in-law 
was  complaining  about  his  taking  her  daughter  to  a 
mortgaged  home. 

"Sure,  now,"  continued  Dick,  pulling  a  roll  of  bills 
from  his  pocket.  "It's  three  thousand  dollars  —  here 
it  is,  all  in  one  bundle." 

"Not  now,  let  that  wait,"  said  Jack,  pushing  the 
money  aside. 

"It's  waited  long  enough,"  cried  Dick  doggedly. 
"You  put  the  mortgage  on  your  ranch  to  let  me  have 
the  money,  and  it  must  be  about  due  now." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  due,  but  let  it  wait." 

"What's  the  use  ?  I'm  all  right  now.  I  brought  the 
cash  with  me  on  purpose.  I  wanted  to  square  it  with 
you  on  sight." 

Dick  pressed  the  money  into  Jack's  hand,  closing  his 
fingers  over  the  roll  of  bills.  With  a  sigh  of  relief,  as 
if  a  disagreeable  task  was  completed,  he  questioned: 
"How's  Bud?" 

Jack  replied  shortly:    "All  right;  he's  inside." 

"I  didn't  write  to  him,"  cheerfully  resumed  Dick. 
"I  didn't  want  the  kid  to  know.  He  is  so  excitable, 


The    Round-Up 


he  would  have  blabbed  it  right  out.  I'll  sure  be  glad 
to  see  the  boy  again.  He's  impulsive,  but  his  heart's 
all  right.  I  know  you've  kept  a  lookout  over  him." 

This  trust  in  him  was  getting  too  much  for  Jack  to 
bear,  so  the  voice  of  Polly  crying  to  him  to  hurry  up 
Was  music  to  his  ears.  "I'm  coming,"  he  shouted. 
"I'll  see  you  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  told  Dick.  "I've 
something  to  tell  you.  I  can't  tell  you  now." 

"Go  in,  then,"  answered  Dick.  "I'll  wait  yonder  in 
the  garden.  Don't  keep  me  waiting  any  longer  than 
you  can  help." 

Dick  turned  and  walked  slowly  toward  the  gate 
which  lead  to  the  kitchen-garden,  a  part  of  every  ranch 
home  in  Arizona.  It  was  cut  off  from  the  house  by  a 
straggling  hedge,  on  which  Echo  had  spent  many 
hours  trying  to  keep  it  in  shape. 

Jack  hesitated  about  going  into  the  house.  Even  if 
Echo  married  him,  he  knew  that  she  would  never 
forgive  him  when  she  learned  of  his  dastardly  conduct 
from  Dick  Lane's  own  mouth.  It  was  better  to  sacri- 
fice the  life  of  one  to  save  three  lives  from  being 
ruined. 

Jack  followed  Lane  up,  partly  drawing  his  gun.  It 
would  be  so  easy  to  shoot  him.  No  one  would  recog- 


The   Round-Up  iS3 

nize  Dick  Lane  in  that  crippled  figure.  Jack's  friends 
would  believe  him  if  he  told  them  the  stranger  had 
drawn  on  him,  and  he  had  to  shoot  him  in  self-defense. 

Then  the  thought  of  how  dastardly  was  the  act 
of  shooting  a  man  in  the  back,  and  he  his  trusting 
friend,  smote  him  suddenly,  and  he  replaced  the  pistol 
in  its  holster.  "It  is  worse  than  the  murder  of  'Ole 
Man'  Terrill,"  he  muttered. 

Dick  walked  on  entirely  unconscious  of  how  clos* 
he  had  been  to  death,  with  his  friend  as  his  murderer. 

So  interested  had  the  two  men  been  in  their  con- 
versation, that  neither  had  noticed  Buck  McKee  hi- 
ding behind  the  hedge,  listening  to  their  talk,  and  cov- 
ering Jack  Payson,  when  he  was  following  Dick  with 
his  hand  on  his  revolver.  McKee  heard  Payson's  ejac- 
ulation, and  smiled  grimly. 

Jack's  absence  had  aroused  Jim  Allen,  who  hurried1 
out  on  the  porch,  storming.  "Say,  Jack,  what  do  you 
mean  by  putting  the  brakes  on  this  yere  weddin'  ?" 

"Jim — say,  Jim!  I — I  want  you  to  do  something 
for  me,"  cried  Jack,  as  he  rushed  toward  his  future 
father-in-law,  greatly  excited. 

"Sure,"  answered  Allen  heartily. 


154  The    Round-Up 

"Stand  here  at  this  door  during  the  ceremony,  and 
no  matter  what  happens  don't  let  any  one  in." 

"But "  interrupted  Allen. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  explain,"  blurted  Jack.  "Echo's 
happiness  is  at  stake." 

"That  settles  it — I've  not  let  any  one  spile  her  hap- 
piness yet,  an'  I  won't  in  the  few  minutes  that  are 
left  while  I'm  still  her  main  protector.  Nobody  gets 
in." 

"Remember — no  one — no  matter  who  it  is,"  empha- 
sized Jack,  as  he  darted  into  the  house. 

Jim  Allen  lighted  his  pipe.  "Now,  what's  eatin' 
him?"  he  muttered  to  himself.  Then,  "They're  off!" 
he  cried,  looking  through  the  window. 

The  Reverend  Samuel  Price  began  to  drone  the  mar- 
riage-service. 

It  is  the  little  things  in  life  that  count,  after  all. 
Men  will  work  themselves  into  hysteria  over  the  buzz- 
ing of  a  fly,  and  yet  plan  a  battle-ship  in  a  boiler-shop. 
A  city  full  of  people  will  at  one  time  become  panic- 
stricken  over  the  burning  of  a  rubbish-heap,  and  at 
another  camp  out  in  the  ruins  of  fire-swept  homes, 
treating  their  miseries  as  a  huge  joke. 

Philosophers  write  learnedly  of  cause  and  effect.    In 


The   Round~Up  135 

chemistry  certain  combinations  give  certain  results. 
But  no  man  can  say :  "I  will  do  thus  and  so,  this  and 
that  will  follow."  All  things  are  possible,  but  few 
things  are  probable. 

Dick  Lane  had  planned  to  shield  Echo  by  writing 
to  Jack  Payson,  letting  him  break  the  news  of  his  re- 
turn. Fate  would  have  it  that  she  would  not  know 
until  too  late  of  his  escape.  A  letter  sent  directly  to 
her  might  have  prevented  much  unhappiness  and  many 
heartaches.  Not  till  months  later,  when  happiness  had 
returned,  did  Jack  realize  that  his  one  great  mistake 
was  made  by  not  telling  Echo  of  Dick's  rescue. 

Both  Dick  and  Echo  might  have  had  a  change  of 
heart  when  they  met  again.  Echo  was  young.  Dick 
had  wandered  far.  Both  had  lost  touch  with  common 
interests.  Jack  Payson  had  entered  her  life  as  a  fac- 
tor. He  was  eager  and  impetuous;  Dick  was  settled 
and  world-worn  by  hardship  and  much  physical  suffer- 
ing. Now  Jack  was  at  the  altar  racked  with  mental 
torture,  while  Dick  waited  in  the  garden  for  his  trai- 
torous friend.  The  innocent  cause  of  the  tragedy  was 
sweetly  and  calmly  replying  to  the  questions  of  the 
marriage-ritual,  while  Jack  was  looking,  as  Allen 
said  to  himself,  "darned  squeamish." 


TheRound-Up 


"According  to  these  words,  it  is  the  will  of  God 
that  nothing  shall  sever  the  marriage-bond,"  were  the 
words  that  fell  upon  Allen's  ears  as  he  stooped  to  look 
in  the  window  at  the  wedding-party. 

"The  Sky  Pilot's  taking  a  long  time  to  make  the 
hitch.  Darned  if  I  couldn't  hitch  up  a  twenty-mule 
team  in  the  time  that  he's  takin'  to  get  them  two  to  the 
pole,"  said  Allen,  speaking  to  himself. 

Dick  had  grown  impatient  at  Jack's  absence,  and 
wandered  back  from  the  garden  to  the  front  of  the 
house.  Spying  Allen,  he  greeted  him  with  "Hello, 
Uncle  Jim." 

"That's  my.  name,"  answered  Allen  suspiciously. 
"But  I  ain't  uncle  to  every  stranger  that  comes  along." 

"I'm  no  stranger,"  laughed  Dick.    "You  know  me." 

"Do  I?"  replied  Allen,  unconvinced.  "Who  are 
you?" 

"The  poor  orphan  you  took  from  an  asylum  and 
made  a  man  of  —  Dick  Lane." 

"Dick  Lane!"  repeated  the  astonished  ranchman. 
"Come  back  from  the  dead  !" 

"No,  I  ain't  dead  yet,"  answered  Dick,  holding  out 
his  hand,  which  Allen  gingerly  grasped,  as  if  he  ex- 
pected to  find  it  thin  air.  "I  wasn't  killed.  I  have 


TheRound-Up  '57 

been  in  the  hospital  for  a  long  time.  I  wrote  Jack — • 
he  knows." 

"My  God!"  Allen  cried.  "Jack  knows — you  wrote 
to  him — he  knows."  Over  and  over  he  repeated  the 
astonishing  news  which  had  been  broken  to  him  so 
suddenly.  Here  was  a  man,  as  if  back  from  the  dead, 
standing  in  his  own  dooryard,  telling  him  that  Jack 
knew  he  was  alive.  No  word  had  been  told  him. 
What  could  Echo  say?  This,  then,  explained  Jack's 
strange  request,  and  his  distress. 

"And  Echo?"  Dick  questioned,  glancing  toward  the 
house. 

"Echo."  The  name  aroused  Allen.  He  saw  at  once 
that  he  must  act  definitely  and  quickly.  Echo  must 
not  see  Dick  now.  It  was  too  late.  The  secret  of  his 
return  on  the  wedding-day  must  be  known  only  to  the 
three  men. 

"Look  here,  Dick,"  he  commanded.  "You  mustn't 
let  her  see  you — she  mustn't  know  you  are  alive." 

Dick  was  growing  confused  over  the  mystery  which 
was  being  thrown  about  Echo  Allen.  First  Jack  had 
told  him  he  must  wait  to  see  her,  and  now  her  father 
tells  him  he  must  never  see  her  again,  or  let  her  know 


158  The    Round-Up 

that  he  is  alive.  His  strength  was  being  overtaxed  by 
all  this  evasion  and  delay. 

"Dick,"  said  Allen,  with  deep  sympathy,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  man's  shoulder.  "She's  my  daughter, 
an' I  want  her  life  to  be  happy.  Can't  you  see?  Don't 
you  understand?  She  thinks  you're  dead." 

"What  are  you  saying?"  cried  Dick,  trying  to  fath- 
om the  riddle. 

"You've  come  back  too  late,  Dick,"  sadly  explained 
Allen. 

"Too  late,"  echoed  Dick.  "There's  something  back 
of  all  this.  I'll  see  her  now." 

He  started  to  enter  the  door,  but  Allen  restrained 
him.  "You  can't  go  in,"  he  shouted  to  the  excited 
man,  and  pushed  him  down  the  steps.  It  was  an  easy 
task  for  him,  for  Dick  was  too  weak  to  offer  much  re- 
sistance. "No,  you  won't,"  he  gently  told  him.  His 
heart  bled  for  the  poor  fellow,  whom  he  loved  almost 
as  a  son,  but  Echo's  happiness  was  at  stake,  and  ex- 
planations could  come  later.  More  to  emphasize  his 
earnestness  than  to  indicate  intention  to  shoot,  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his  revolver,  saying:  "Not  if 
I  have  to  kill  you." 

Dick  began  to  realize  that  whatever  was  wrong  was 


The    Round-Up  159 

of  the  greatest  consequence.  It  was  a  shock  to  him 
to  have  his  oldest,  his  best  friend  in  the  West  treat 
him  in  this  fashion. 

"Jim!"  he  cried  in  his  anguish. 

"You've  got  to  go  back  where  you  came  from, 
Dick,"  sternly  answered  the  ranchman.  "If  ever  you 
loved  my  daughter,  now's  your  chance  to  prove  it — 
she  must  never  know  you're  living " 

"But " 

"It's  a  whole  lot  I'm  askin'  of  you,  Dick,"  continued 
Allen.  "But  if  you  love  her,  as  I  think  you  do,  it  may 
be  a  drop  of  comfort  in  your  heart  to  know  that  by 
doin'  this  great  thing  for  her,  you'll  be  makin'  her  life 
better  and  happier." 

"I  do  love  her,"  cried  Dick  passionately;  "but  there 
must  be  some  reason — tell  me." 

Allen  held  up  his  hand  to  warn  Dick  to  be  silent. 
He  beckoned  him  to  follow  him.  Slowly  he  led  him 
to  the  door,  and,  partly  opening  it,  motioned  him  to 
listen. 

"Forasmuch  as  John  Payson  and  Echo  Allen  have 
consented  together  in  holy  wedlock"  were  the  words 
that  fell  upon  his  ears. 

As  the  doomed  man  stands,  motionless,  before  his 


i6o  TheRound-Up 

judges,  and  hears  his  death-sentence  read  without 
a  tremor,  ofttimes  thinking  of  some  trifle,  so  Dick 
stood  for  a  moment.  At  first  he  did  not  fully  realize 
what  it  all  meant.  Then  the  full  depth  of  his  betrayal 
flooded  him.  "What?"  he  cried.  "Payson!"  Allen 
held  him  back. 

Again  the  minister's  voice  fell  upon  their  ears,  re- 
peating the  solemn  words.  "And  have  declared  the 
same  before  God  and  in  the  presence  of  these  wit- 
nesses, I  pronounce  them  husband  and  wife.  What 
God  hath  joined  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder." 

Dick,  shaken  and  hurt,  slowly  sank  to  his  knees,  cov- 
ering his  face  with  his  hands.  A  dry  sob  shook  his 
frame.  Here  was  the  end  of  all  his  hopes.  Here  the 
sad  reward  for  years  of  toil  and  waiting. 

"Now  you  know  why  you  can't  stay  here,"  said 
Allen,  his  tones  full  of  pity. 

"Now  I  know." 

Dick  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  started  blindly  away 
from  the  house. 

"Dick!"  cried  Allen,  in  a  broken  voice,  "forgive  me. 
She's  my  child,  she  loves  him  now." 

The  betrayed  friend  took  his  hand  without  looking 
at  him.  In  vain  he  \ried  to  hide  his  deep  emotion.  "I 


TheRound~Up  161 

know,"  he  faltered.  "I'll  never  trouble  her.  I'll  go 
away  never  to  return." 

"Where'll  you  go?"  asked  Allen. 

"Back  where  I  came  from,  back  into  the  desert—* 
into  the  land  of  dead  things.  Good-by !" 

As  he  wrung  the  ranchman's  hand  and  turned  to 
walk  out  of  the  life  of  his  old  comrades  and  the  wom- 
an he  loved,  he  heard  the  minister  repeat :  "The  bless- 
ing of  the  Almighty  Father  rest  upon  and  abide  with 
you,  now  and  forevermore.  Amen." 

"Evermore.  Amen!"  faltered  Dick,  bidding  a  last 
mute  farewell  to  Allen. 

The  old  ranchman  watched  him  quietly  as  he 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  down  the  trail. 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter of  the  wedding-guests,  and  the  cries  of  Fresno: 
"Kiss  the  bride,  Slim!  Kiss  the  bride!" 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Piano. 

Five  weeks  had  passed  since  the  marriage  of  Echo 
and  Jack.  On  her  return  from  the  honeymoon  in  the 
little  hunting  cabin  in  the  Tortilla  Range,  the  young 
wife  set  to  work,  and  already  great  changes  had  been 
made  in  the  ranch-house  on  the  Sweetwater.  Rooms 
were  repapered  and  painted.  The  big  center  room  was 
altered  into  a  cozy  living-room.  On  the  long,  low  win- 
dow, giving  an  outlook  on  fields  of  alfalfa,  corn,  and 
the  silver  ribbons  of  the  irrigation  ditches,  dainty  mus- 
lin curtains  now  hung.  Potted  geraniums  rilled  the 
sill,  and  in  the  unused  fireplace  Echo  had  placed  a  jar 
of  ferns.  A  clock  ticking  on  the  mantelpiece  added 
to  the  cheerfulness  and  hominess  of  the  house.  On 
the  walls,  horns  of  mountain-sheep  and  antlers  of  ante- 
lope and  deer  alternated  with  the  mounted  heads  of 
puma  and  buffalo.  Through  the  open  window  one 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  arms  of  a  windmill,  and  the 
outbuildings  of  the  home  ranch.  Navajo  blankets  were 
scattered  over  the  floors  and  seats. 


The   Round-Up  163 

Echo  had  taken  the  souvenirs  of  the  hunt  and  trail 
which  Jack  had  collected,  and,  with  a  woman's  touch 
of  refinement,  had  used  them  for  decorative  effects. 
She  had  in  truth  made  the  room  her  very  own.  The 
grace  and  charm  of  her  personality  were  stamped  upon 
the  environment. 

The  men  of  the  ranch  fairly  worshiped  Echo.  Send- 
ing to  Kansas  City,  they  purchased  a  piano  for  her  as 
a  birthday-gift.  On  the  morning  when  the  wagon 
brought  it  over  from  Florence  station,  little  work  was 
done  about  the  place.  The  instrument  had  been  un- 
packed and  placed  in  the  living-room  in  Echo's  ab- 
sence. Mrs.  Allen,  Polly,  and  Jim  rode  over  to  be 
present  at  the  presentation.  The  donors  gathered  in 
the  living-room  to  admire  the  gift,  which  shone  brave- 
ly under  the  energetic  polishing  of  Mrs.  Allen. 

"That's  an  elegant  instrument,"  was  her  observa- 
tion, as  she  flicked  an  imaginary  speck  of  dust  from 
the  case. 

Polly  opened  the  lid,  saying:  "Just  what  Echo 
wanted." 

Jim  cocked  his  head,  as  if  he  were  examining  a  now 
pinto  pony. 

"Sent  all  the  way  up  to  Kansas  City  for  it,  eh?" 


164  TheRound-Up 

"That's  right,  Uncle  Jim/'  chorused  the  punchers. 

"Now  the  room's  complete,"  announced  Polly. 
"Echo's  made  a  big  change  around  here."  The  group 
gravely  followed  Polly's  approving  glances. 

"That  she  has,"  assented  Mrs.  Allen.  "Looked  like 
a  barn  when  Jack  was  a  bachelor.  This  certainly  is 
the  finest  kind  of  a  birthday-present  you  all  could  have 
thought  of." 

"Josephine'll  cry  in  a  minute,  boys,"  chuckled  Allen. 

"You  hesh  up,"  snapped  his  wife,  glaring  at  the 
grinning  ranchman. 

Sage-brush  poured  oil  on  the  roughening  waters  by 
changing  the  conversation.  Speaking  as  if  making  a 
dare,  he  challenged:  "What  I  want  to  know  is,  is 
there  anybody  here  present  as  can  rassle  a  tune  out  of 
that  there  box?" 

No  one  came  forward. 

"Ain't  there  none  of  you  boys  that  can  play  on  a 
pianny?"  he  demanded. 

"I've  played  on  the  big  square  one  down  at  the  Lone 
Star,"  gravely  piped  up  Show  Low. 

"What  did  you  play,"  asked  the  inquisitive  Polly. 

"Poker,"  answered  Show  Low  seriously,  his  face 
showing  no  trace  of  humor. 


The   Round-Up 


"Poker  !"  Polly  repeated,  in  disgust. 

"That's  all  they  ever  plays  on  it,"  explained  Show 
Low  indignantly. 

Polly  grew  impatient.  This  presentation  was  a 
serious  affair  and  not  to  be  turned  into  an  audience 
for  the  exploitation  of  Show  Low's  adventures.  More- 
over, she  did  not  like  to  be  used  even  indirectly  as  a 
target  for  fun-making,  although  she  delighted  in  ma- 
king some  one  else  a  feeder  for  her  ideas  of  fun. 

Fresno  modestly  announced  he  was  something  of 
a  musical  artist. 

"I  'low  I  can  shake  a  tune  out  of  that,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"Let's  hear  you,"  cried  Polly,  rather  doubtful  of 
Fresno's  ability. 

"Step  up,  perfesser,"  cried  Allen  heartily,  slapping 
him  on  the  back. 

Fresno  grinned  and  solemnly  rolled  up  his  sleeves. 
His  comrades  eyed  his  every  move  closely.  He  spat 
on  his  hands,  approached  the  piano,  and  glared  fiercely 
at  the  keyboard. 

"My  ma  had  one  of  them  there  things  when  I  was 
a  yearlin',"  he  observed. 

Fresno  spun  the  seat  of  the  piano-stool  until  it  e£- 


166  The   Round-Up 

most  twirled  off  the  screw.  His  actions  created  the 
greatest  interest,  especially  to  Parenthesis,  who  peered 
under  the  seat,  to  see  the  wheels  go  round.  Fresno 
threw  his  leg  over  the  seat  as  if  mounting  a  horse. 

"Well,  boys,  what'll  you  have?"  he  asked,  glancing 
from  one  to  the  other  in  imitation  of  the  manner  of 
his  friend,  the  pianist  in  the  Tucson  honkytonk,  on  a 
lively  evening. 

"The  usual  poison,"  absently  answered  Show  Low. 

Sage-brush  struck  him  in  the  breast  with  the  back 
of  his  hand.  "Shut  up,"  he  growled. 

Turning  to  Fresno,  he  said:    "Give  us  the — er — > 
'The  Maiden's  Prayer.'  " 

Fresno  whisked  about  so  quickly  that  he  almost 
lost  his  balance.  Gazing  at  the  petitioner  in  blank 
amazement,  he  shouted:  "The  what?" 

Sage-brush  blushed  under  his  tan.  In  a  most  apol- 
ogetic voice  he  said:  "Well,  that's  the  first  tune  my 
sister  learned  to  play,  an'  she  played  it  continuous — 
which  is  why  I  left  home." 

"I'd  sure  like  to  oblige  you,  but  Maiden's  Prayers 
ain't  in  my  repetory,"  explained  the  mollified  musician. 

Fresno  raised  his  finger  uncertainly  over  the  key- 
board searching  for  a  key  from  which  to  make  a 


The   Round-Up  167 

start.  The  group  watched  him  expectantly.  As  he 
struck  a  note  each  member  of  his  audience  jumped 
back  in  surprise  at  the  sound.  Fresno  scratched  his 
head  and  gingerly  fingered  another  key.  After  sev- 
eral false  starts,  backing  and  filling,  over  the  key- 
board, he  began  to  pick  out  with  one  finger  the  air 
"The  Suwanee  River." 

"That's  it.  Now  we're  started,"  he  cried  exult- 
antly. 

His  overconfidence  led  him  to  strike  a  false  note. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  apologized.  "Got  the  copper  on 
the  wrong  chip." 

Once  more  he  essayed  playing  the  old  melody,  but 
became  hopelessly  confused. 

"Darn  the  tune !"  he  mumbled. 

Sage-brush,  ever  ready  to  cheer  up  the  failing  cour- 
age of  a  performer,  chirruped :  "Shuffle  'em  up  ag'in 
and  begin  a  new  deal." 

Fresno  spat  on  his  hands  and  ruffled  his  hair  like 
a  musical  genius.  Again  he  sought  the  rhythm  among 
the  keys.  He  tried  to  whistle  the  air.  That  device 
failed  him. 

"Will  you  all  whistle  that  tune?  I'm  forgettin'  it," 
was  his  plaintive  request. 


i68  The  Round-Up 

"Sure,  let  her  go  boys,"  cried  Sage-brush. 

Falteringly,  with  many  stops  and  sudden  starts, 
they  tried  to  accompany  Fresno's  halting  pursuit  over 
the  keyboard  after  the  tune  that  was  dodging  about 
in  his  mind.  All  at  once  the  player  struck  his  gait 
and  introduced  a  variation  on  the  bass  notes. 

"That  ain't  in  it,"  shouted  Show  Low  indignantly. 

"Shut  up!"  bellowed  Sage-brush. 

With  both  hands  hammering  the  keys  indiscrim- 
inately, Fresno  made  a  noisy  if  not  artistic  finish,  and 
whirled  about  on  the  stool,  to  be  greeted  by  hearty 
applause. 

"Well,  I  reckon  that's  goin'  some!"  he  boasted, 
when  the  hand-clapping  subsided,  bowing  low  to  Polly 
and  Mrs.  Allen. 

"Coin'?"  laughed  Polly.  "Limpin'  is  what  I  call 
it.  If  you  don't  learn  to  switch  off,  you'll  get  a  cal- 
lous on  that  one  finger  of  yourn."  Fresno  looked  at 
that  member  dubiously. 

"Ain't  music  civilizin'?"  suggested  Show  Low  to 
Jim  Allen. 

"You  bet!"  the  ranchman  agreed.  "Take  a  pianny 
an'  enough  Winchesters  an'  you  can  civilize  the  hull 
of  China." 


The   Round-Up  169 

"Fresno  could  kill  more  with  his  pianny-play  than 
his  gun-play,"  suggested  Show  Low. 

Mrs.  Allen  bethought  herself  that  there  was  a  lot 
of  work  to  be  done  in  preparation  for  the  party. 
Even  if  everything  was  ready,  the  dear  old  soul  would 
find  something  to  do  or  worry  about. 

"Come,  now,  clear  out  of  here,  the  hull  kit  an'  b'ilin' 
of  you,"  she  ordered. 

The  men  hastily  crowded  out  on  the  piazza. 

"Take  that  packin'-case  out  of  sight,  if  you  mean 
this  pianny  to  be  a  surprise  to  Echo.  She'll  be  trottin' 
back  here  in  no  time,"  she  added. 

Fresno  had  lingered  to  assure  Jim:  "This  yere 
birthday's  goin'  to  be  a  success.  Would  you  like  an- 
other selection?"  he  eagerly  asked. 

"Not  unless  you  wash  your  finger,"  snapped  Mrs. 
Allen,  busy  polishing  the  keys  Fresno  had  struck. 
"You  left  a  grease-spot  on  every  key  you've  touched," 
she  explained. 

Fresno  held  up  his  finger  for  Allen's  inspection. 
"I've  been  greasin'  the  wagon,"  was  his  explanation. 

"Git  out  with  the  rest  of  them,"  she  commanded. 
"I've  got  enough  to  do  to  look  after  that  cake."  Mrs. 
Allen  darted  into  the  kitchen.  Jim  slowly  filled  his 


TheRound-Up 


pipe  and  hunted  up  the  most  comfortable  chair.  After 
two  or  three  trials  he  found  one  to  suit  him,  and  sank 
back  with  a  sigh  of  content. 

"Jack  ain't  back  yet  ?"    Polly  put  the  question. 

"No,  he  rode  over  for  the  mail." 

Polly  rearranged  the  chairs  in  the  room,  picking 
up  and  replacing  the  articles  on  the  table  to  suit  her 
own  artistic  conceptions.  She  straightened  out  a  war- 
bonnet  on  the  wall.  She  was  flicking  off  a  spot  of 
dust  on  the  gilt  chair  that  Jack  had  got  as  a  wedding- 
present  for  Echo  on  the  day  of  the  station-agent's 
murder,  and,  being  reminded  of  the  tragedy,  she 
asked  :  "That  posse  didn't  catch  the  parties  that  killed 
Terrill,  did  they?" 

"Not  that  I  hear  on.  Slim  Hoover  he  took  the  boy? 
that  night  an'  tried  to  pick  up  the  trail  after  it  en- 
tered the  river,  but  they  couldn't  find  where  it  come 
out." 

"One  of  them  fellers,  the  man  that  left  the  station 
alone,  and  probably  done  the  job,  rode  a  pacin'  horse," 
answered  Jim,  between  puffs  of  his  pipe. 

"Then  he's  a  stranger  to  these  parts.  Jack's  pinto 
paces  —  it's  his  regular  gait.  It's  the  only  pacing  hoss 
around  here," 


The   Round-Up  171 

"That's  so,"  he  assented,  but  made  no  further  com- 
ment. The  full  force  of  the  observation  did  not  strike 
him  at  the  time. 

Polly  began  to  pump  Colonel  Jim.  There  were 
several  recent  happenings  which  she  did  not  fully 
comprehend.  At  the  inquisitive  age  and  a  girl,  she 
wanted  to  know  all  that  was  going  on. 

"Jack's  been  acting  mighty  queer  of  late,"  she  ven- 
tured. "Like  he's  got  something  on  his  mind." 

Jim  smiled  at  her  simplicity  and  jokingly  replied: 
"Well,  he's  married." 

The  retort  exasperated  Polly.  She  was  not  meet- 
ing with  the  success  she  desired.  "Do  hush!"  she 
cried,  in  her  annoyance. 

"That's  enough  on  any  man's  mind,"  Jim  laughed 
as  he  sauntered  out  of  the  door. 

"Something  queer  about  Jack,"  observed  Polly, 
seating  herself  at  the  table.  "He  ain't  been  the  same 
man  since  the  weddin'.  He's  all  right  when  Echo's 
around,  but  when  he  thinks  no  one  is  watchin'  him  he 
sits  around  and  sighs." 

Jack  entered  the  room  at  this  moment.  Absent- 
mindedly  he  hung  his  hat  and  spurs  on  a  rack  and 
leaned  his  rifle  against  the  wall,  sighing  deeply  as  he 


TheRound-Up 


did  so.  So  engrossed  was  he  in  his  thoughts  that  he 
did  not  notice  Polly  until  he  reached  the  table.  He 
started  in  surprise  when  he  saw  her.  "Hello,  Polly!" 
was  his  greeting.  "Where  is  Echo?" 

Polly  rose  hastily  at  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"Didn't  you  meet  her?"  she  asked.  "We  got  her 
to  ride  over  toward  Tucson  this  morning  to  get  her 
out  of  the  way  so's  to  snake  the  pianny  in  without 
her  seein'  it."  Polly  glided  over  to  the  instrument 
and  touched  the  keys  softly. 

With  admiration  Jack  gazed  at  the  instrument. 

"I  came  around  by  Florence,"  answered  Jack,  with 
a  smile. 

Eagerly  Polly  turned  toward  him.  "See  anything 
of  Bud  Lane  ?"  she  queried. 

"No."  Again  Jack  smiled  —  this  time  at  the  girl's 
impetuosity. 

"He'll  lose  his  job  with  me  if  he  don't  call  more 
regular,"  she  said. 

"Say,  Jack,  you  ain't  fergettin'  what  you  promised 
«  —  to  help  Bud  with  the  money  that  you  said  was  corn- 
in'  in  soon,  as  Dick's  share  of  a  speculation  you  and 
him  was  pardners  in?  I'm  powerful  anxious  to  get 
him  away  from  McKee." 


TheRound-Up  i?3 

Jack  had  not  forgotten  the  promise,  but,  alas !  under 
the  goading  of  Mrs.  Allen  that  he  should  clear  off  the 
mortgage  on  his  home,  he  had  used  Dick  Lane's  money 
for  this  purpose.  In  what  a  mesh  of  lies  and  broken 
promises  he  was  entangling  himself!  Now  he  was 
forced  further  to  deceive  trusting  little  Polly  in  the 
matter  that  was  dearest  to  her  heart. 

"No,  Polly,  but  the  fact  is — that  speculation  isn't 
turning  out  so  well,  after  all." 

The  disappointed  girl  turned  sadly  away,  and  went 
out  to  Mrs.  Allen  in  the  kitchen. 

Jack  removed  his  belt  and  gun  and  hung  them  on 
the  rack  by  the  door.  Spying  his  father  at  the  corral, 
he  called  to  him  to  come  into  the  house. 

"Hello,  Jack!"  was  Allen's  greeting  as  he  entered, 
shaking  the  younger  man's  hand. 

"When  did  you  come  over?" 

"This  morning,"  Allen  told  him.  "Echo's  birth- 
day, you  know,  and  the  old  lady  allowed  we'd  have  to 
be  here.  Ain't  seen  you  since  the  weddin' — got  things 
lookin'  fine  here."  Allen  slowly  surveyed  the  room. 

Jack  agreed  with  him  with  a  gesture  of  assent.  A 
more  important  topic  to  him  than  the  furnishing  of 
a  room  was  what  had  become  of  Dick  Lane.  After 


i/4  TheRound-Up 

the  wedding-ceremony  no  chance  had  come  to  him  to 
speak  privately  to  Allen. 

The  festivities  of  the  wedding  had  been  shortened. 
Slim  had  gathered  a  posse  and  taken  up  the  trail  of 
the  slayers.  Jim  Allen  had  joined  them.  The  hazing 
of  Jack,  and  the  hasty  departure  of  the  bridal  pair  on 
horseback  in  a  shower  of  corn,  shelled  and  on  the 
cob,  prevented  the  two  men  from  meeting. 

The  older  man  had  volunteered  no  explanation. 
Jack  knew  that  in  his  heart  Allen  did  not  approve 
of  his  actions,  but  was  keeping  silent  because  of  his 
daughter. 

Jack  could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  "Jim — what 
happened  that  night?"  he  asked  brokenly. 

Allen  showed  his  embarrassment.  "Meanin' " 

Then  he  hesitated. 

"Dick,"  was  all  Jack  could  say. 

"I  seed  him.  If  I  hadn't,  he'd  busted  up  the  wed- 
din'  some,"  was  his  laconic  answer. 

"Where  is  he?" 

Allen  relighted  his  pipe.  When  he  got  the  smoke 
drawing  freely,  he  gazed  at  Jack  thoughtfully  and  an- 
swered: "He's  gone.  Back  where  he  came  from — 


TheRound-Up  '75 

into  the  desert."  Jim  puffed  slowly,  and  then  added: 
"Looks  like  you  didn't  give  Dick  a  square  deal." 

Allen  liked  his  son-in-law,  and  was  going  to  stand 
by  him,  but  in  Arizona  the  saying  "All's  fair  in  love 
and  war"  is  not  accepted  at  its  face  value. 

"I  didn't,"  acknowledged  Jack.  "I  was  desperate 
at  the  thought  of  losing  her.  She  loved  me,  and  had 
forgotten  him — she's  happy  with  me  now." 

"I  reckon  that's  right,"  was  Jim's  consoling  reply. 

To  clinch  his  argument  and  soothe  his  troublesome 
conscience,  Jack  continued:  "She  never  would  have 
been  happy  with  him." 

"That's  what  I  told  him,"  declared  Allen.  "He 
knew  it,  an'  that's  why  he  went  away — an'  Echo — no 
matter  what  comes,  she  must  never  know.  She'd 
never  forgive  you — an',  fer  that  matter,  me,  neither." 

Jack  looked  long  out  of  the  window  toward  the  dis- 
tant mountains — the  barrier  behind  which  Dick  was 
wandering  in  the  great  desert,  cut  off  from  the  woman 
he  loved  by  a  false  friend. 

"How  I  have  suffered  for  that  lie!"  uttered  Jack, 
in  tones  full  of  anguish.  "That's  what  hurts  me  most 
— the  thought  that  I  lied  to  her.  I  might  have  killed 
him  that  night,"  pondered  Jack.  He  shuddered  at  the 


176  TheRound-Up 

thought  that  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  adding  mur- 
der to  the  lie.  He  had  faced  the  same  temptation 
which  Dick  had  yet  to  overcome. 

"Mebbe  you  did.  There's  more'n  one  way  of  killin' 
a  man,"  suggested  Allen. 

Jack  swung  round  and  faced  him.  The  observa- 
tion had  struck  home.  He  realized  how  poignantly 
Dick  must  have  endured  the  loss  of  Echo  and  the 
thought  of  his  betrayal  by  Jack.  As  he  had  suffered 
mentally  so  Dick  must  be  suffering  in  the  desert.  In 
self -justification  he  returned  to  his  old  argument. 

"I  waited  until  I  was  sure  he  was  dead.  Six 
months  I  waited  after  we  heard  the  news.  After  I 
had  told  Echo  I  loved  her  and  found  that  I  was  loved 
in  return — then  came  this  letter.  God!  What  a 
fight  I  had  with  myself  when  I  found  that  he  still 
lived — was  thinking  of  returning  home  to  claim  her 
for  his  own.  I  rode  out  into  the  hills  and  fought  it 
out  all  alone,  like  an  Indian — then  I  resolved  to  hurry 
the  wedding — to  lie  to  her — and  I  have  been  living 
that  lie  every  minute,  every  hour." 

Jack  leaned  heavily  on  the  table.  His  head  sank. 
His  voice  dropped  almost  to  a  whisper. 

Allen  slapped  him  on  the  back  to  cheer  him  up. 


The   Round-  Up 


Philosophically  he  announced:  "Well,  it's  got  to  be 
as  it  is.  You'll  mebbe  never  hear  from  him  again. 
You  mustn't  never  tell  her.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  say 
nothin'  about  it  —  her  happiness  means  everything  to 
me." 

Jack  grasped  his  hand  in  silent  thankfulness. 

The  two  men  walked  slowly  out  of  the  room  to  the 
corral. 

As  Echo  galloped  across  the  prairie  in  the  glorioua 
morning  air,  the  sunshine,  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  on 
the  hills,  and  the  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  trees  along 
the  Sweetwater  had  banished  all  depressing  thoughts, 
and  her  mind  dwelt  on  her  love  for  Jack  and  the 
pleasantness  of  the  lines  in  which  her  life  had  fallen. 

Only  one  small  cloud  had  appeared  on  the  horizon. 
Jack  had  not  shared  with  her  his  confidences  in  the 
business  of  the  ranch.  He  told  her  he  did  not  want 
to  worry  her  with  such  cares.  True,  there  were  timei 
when  he  was  deeply  abstracted  ;  but  in  her  presence  hi 
moroseness  vanished  quickly.  Carefully  as  he  hart 
tried  to  hide  his  secret,  she  had,  with  a  woman's  intui- 
tion, seen  beneath  the  surface  of  things  and  realized 
that  something  was  lacking  to  complete  her  happiness, 


The   Round-Up 


As  Echo  turned  toward  home  a  song  sprang  to  her 
lips.  Polly  spied  her  far  down  the  trail. 

"Boys,  she's  coming,"  she  shouted  to  the  men,  who 
were  at  the  bunk-house  awaiting  Mrs.  Payson's  re- 
turn. As  they  passed  the  corral  they  called  to  Jack 
and  Allen  to  join  them  in  the  living-room  to  prepare 
for  the  surprise  for  Echo. 

The  party  quickly  reassembled. 

"Good  land!"  shouted  Allen,  "get  something  to 
cover  the  pianny  with!" 

The  punchers  rushed  in  confusion  about  the  room 
in  a  vain  search. 

"Ain't  there  a  plagued  thing  we  can  cover  that 
pianny  with?"  cried  the  demoralized  Allen,  renewing 
his  appeal. 

Polly  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  helpless  men  by 
plucking  a  Navajo  blanket  from1  the  couch.  Tossing 
one  end  of  it  to  Show  Low,  she  motioned  to  him  to 
help  hold  it  up  before  the  instrument  like  a  curtain. 

"Stand  in  front  of  it,  everybody,"  ordered  Mrs. 
Allen,  who  had  left  her  cake-baking  and  hurried  in 
from  the  kitchen.  "Polly,  spread  your  skirts  —  you, 
too,  Jim." 

Allen  ran  in  front  of  the  piano,  holding  out  an 


TheRound-Up  179 

imaginary  dress  in  imitation  of  Polly.  "Which  I  ain't 
got  none,"  he  cried. 

Parenthesis  jumped  in  front  of  the  piano-stool,  try- 
ing vainly  to  hide  it  with  his  legs. 

"Parenthesis,  put  your  legs  together,"  Mrs.  Allen 
cried. 

"I  can't,  ma'am,"  wailed  the  unfortunate  puncher. 
He  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  stool,  spreading  out 
his  waistcoat  for  a  screen.  Mrs.  Allen  helped  him  out 
with  her  skirts. 

"Steady,  everybody !"  shouted  Jack. 

"Here  she  is !"  yelled  Sage-brush,  as  the  door  opened 
and  the  astonished  Echo  faced  those  she  loved  and 
liked. 

Echo  made  a  pretty  picture  framed  in  the  door- 
way. She  wore  her  riding-habit  of  olive-green — from 
the  hem  of  which  peeped  her  soft  boots.  Her  hat, 
broad,  picturesque,  typical  of  the  Southwest,  had 
slipped  backward,  forming  a  background  for  her 
pretty  face.  An  amused  smile  played  about  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  smiled  inquiringly. 

The  group  looked  at  her  sheepishly.  No  one  ven- 
tured to  answer  her  question. 


The   Round-Up 


"What's  the  matter?"  she  resumed.  "You're 
herded  up  like  a  bunch  of  cows  in  a  norther." 

Sage-brush  began  gravely  to  explain.  He  got  only 
as  far  as:  "This  yere  bein'  a  birthday,"  when  Echo 
interrupted  him:  "Oh!  then  it's  a  birthday-party?'' 

Once  stopped,  Sage-brush  could  not  get  started 
again.  He  cleared  his  throat  with  more  emphasis 
than  politeness  ;  striking  the  attitude  of  an  orator,  with 
one  hand  upraised  and  the  other  on  his  hip,  he  hemmed 
and  hawed  until  beads  of  perspiration  trickled  from 
his  temples. 

Again  he  nerved  himself  for  the  ordeal. 

"Mebbe,"  he  gasped. 

Then  he  opened  and  closed  his  mouth,  froglike,  sev- 
eral times,  taking  long,  gulping  breaths.  At  last,  look- 
ing helplessly  about  him,  he  shouted:  "Oh,  shucks! 
you  tell  her,  Jack."  He  pushed  him  toward  Echo. 
Jack  rested  his  hand  on  the  table  and  began  :  "We've 
a  surprise  for  you  —  that  is,  the  boys  have  -  " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Echo  eagerly. 

"You've  got  to  call  it  blind,"  broke  in  Sage-brush. 

"Guess  it,"  cried  Fresno. 

"A  pony-cart,"  hazarded  Echo. 


ThcRound-Up  *i 

"Shucks!  no,"  said  Show  Low  at  the  idea  of  pre- 
senting Echo  with  anything  on  wheels. 

Echo  then  guessed:     "Sewing-machine." 

Sage-brush  encouraged  her.  "That's  something  like 
it  —  go  on  —  go  on." 

"Well,  then,  it's  a  -  " 

Sage-brush  grew  more  excited.  He  raised  and  low- 
ered himself  on  his  toes,  backing  toward  the  piano. 
"Go  it,  you're  gettin'  there,"  he  shouted. 

"It's  a  -  " 

Again  she  hesitated,  to  be  helped  on  by  Sage-brush 
with  the  assurance:  "She'll  do  it  —  fire  away  —  it's 


A 


"Go  on." 

Sage-brush  in  his  enthusiasm  backed  too  far  into 
the  blanket  screen.  His  spurs  became  entangled.  To 
save  himself  from  a  fall,  he  threw  out  his  hand  be- 
hind him.  They  struck  the  polished  cover  of  the  in- 
strument, slid  off,  and  Sage-brush  sat  down  on  the 
keys  with  an  unmistakable  crash. 

"A  piano  !"  cried  Echo  exultantly. 

"Who  done  that?"  demanded  Show  Low  angrily. 

Parenthesis,  from  his  place  on  the  floor,  looked  al 


182  TheRound-Up 

the  mischief-maker  in  disgust.  "Sage-brush!"  he 
shouted. 

"Givin'  the  hull  thing  away,"  snarled  Fresno. 

Show  Low  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  Going 
up  to  Sage-brush,  he  shook  his  fist  in  his  face,  saying : 
"You're  the  limit.  You  ought  to  be  herdin'  sheep." 

The  victim  of  the  accident  humbly  replied:  "I 
couldn't  help  it." 

Mrs.  Allen  smoothed  out  the  differences  by  de- 
claring: "What's  the  difference,  she  wouldn't  have 
guessed,  not  in  a  million  years — stand  away  and  let 
her  see  it." 

Fresno  swept  them  all  aside  with  the  blanket. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  beautiful,  beautiful!"  cried  Echo. 

"Who — what — where "  she  stammered,  glan- 
cing from  one  to  the  other,  her  eyes  finally  resting 
on  Jack. 

"Not  guilty,"  he  cried.  "You'll  have  to  thank  the 
boys  for  this." 

With  happy  tears  welling  up  in  her  eyes,  Echo 
said :  "I  do  thank  them,  I  do — I  do — I  can't  tell  how 
delighted  I  am.  I  can't  say  how  much  this  means 
to  me — oh,  I  thank  you — I  say  it  once,  but  I  feel  it  a 


The   Round -Up  '83 

thousand  times."  She  seized  each  of  the  boys  by  the 
hand  and  shook  it  heartily. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  another  selection?"  asked 
Fresno,  relieving  the  tension  of  the  situation. 

"No!"  shouted  the  punchers  unanimously.  Fresno 
looked  very  much  crestfallen,  since  he  considered  that 
he  had  made  a  deep  impression  by  his  first  effort. 

"Mrs.  Pay  son's  goin'  to  hit  us  out  a  tune,"  an- 
nounced Sage-brush. 

Echo  seated  herself  at  the  piano.  Jack  leaned 
against  the  instrument,  gazing  fondly  into  her  eyes, 
as  she  raised  her  face  radiant  with  happiness.  Allen 
had  taken  possession  of  the  best  rocking-chair.  Mrs. 
Allen  sat  at  the  table,  and  the  boys  ranged  them- 
selves about  the  room.  Their  faces  reflected  gratifica- 
tion. They  watched  Echo  expectantly. 

Echo  played  the  opening  bars  of  "The  Old  Folks 
at  Home."  Before  she  sang  Fresno,  holding  up  his 
right  index-finger,  remarked  to  no  one  in  particular: 
"I  washed  that  finger." 

The  singing  deeply  affected  her  little  audience. 
Echo  had  a  sweet,  natural  voice.  She  threw  her  whole 
soul  into  the  old  ballad.  She  was  so  happy  she  felt 
like  singing,  not  lively  airs,  but  songs  about  home. 


1 84  The    Round-Up 

Her  new  home  had  become  so  dear  to  her  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Allen  as  usual  began  to  cry.  Polly  soon  fol- 
lowed her  example.  There  were  tears  even  in  the  eyes 
of  some  of  the  punchers,  although  they  blinked  vigor- 
ously to  keep  them  back. 

When  she  repeated  the  chorus,  Sage-brush  said  to 
Fresno:  "Ain't  that  great?" 

That  worthy,  however,  with  the  jealousy  of  an 
artist,  and  to  hide  his  own  deeply  moved  sensibilities, 
replied :  "That  ain't  so  much." 

Jack  had  become  completely  absorbed  in  the  music. 
He  and  Echo  were  oblivious  to  surroundings.  His 
arm  had  slipped  about  his  wife's  waist,  and  she  gazed 
fondly  into  his  face.  Sage-brush  was  the  first  to 
notice  their  attitude.  On  his  calling  the  attention  of 
the  boys  to  their  happiness,  these  quietly  tiptoed  from 
the  room.  Polly  signaled  to  Mrs.  Allen,  and  followed 
the  boys.  Josephine  awoke  Jim  as  if  from  a  dream 
and  lead  him  slowly  out,  leaving  the  young ' couple  in 
an  earthly  paradise  of  married  love. 

When  Echo  finished,  she  turned  in  surprise  to  find 
themselves  alone. 

"Was  it  as  bad  as  that?"  she  naively  asked  Jack. 


The   Round-Up  '85 

"What?" 

"Why,  they've  all  left  us." 

Jack  laughed  softly.  "So  they  have — I  forgot  they 
were  here,"  he  said,  looking  fondly  down  at  his  wife. 

Echo  began  to  play  quietly  another  ballad.  "I've 
always  wanted  a  piano,"  she  said. 

"You'd  found  one  here  waiting,  if  I'd  only  known 
it,"  he  chided. 

"You've  given  me  so  much  already,"  she  murmured. 
"I've  been  a  big  expense  to  you." 

Jack  again  slipped  his  arm  about  her  waist  and 
kissed  her.  "There  ain't  any  limit  on  my  love,"  he 
declared.  "I  want  you  to  be  happy " 

"Don't  you  think  I  am,"  laughed  Echo.  "I'm  the 
happiest  woman  on  earth,  Jack,  and  it's  all  you.  I 
want  to  be  more  than  a  wife  to  you,  I  want  to  be  a 
helpmate — but  you  won't  let  me." 

A  wistful  expression  crept  over  Echo's  countenance. 

"Who  says  so?"  he  demanded  playfully,  as  if  he 
would  punish  any  man  who  dared  make  such  an  ac- 
cusation. 

Echo  turned  on  the  stool  and  took  his  hand.  "I 
know  it,"  she  said,  with  emphasis.  "You've  been 


186  The   Round-Up 

worried  about  something  for  days  and  days — don't  tell 
me  you  haven't." 

Jack  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  contradict  her.  "We 
women  learn  to  look  beneath  the  surface;  what  is  it, 
Jack?"  she  continued. 

Jack  loosened  his  wife's  handclasp  and  walked 
over  to  the  table. 

"Nothing — what  should  I  have  to  worry  about?" 
He  spoke  carelessly. 

"The  mortgage  ?"  suggested  Echo. 

"I  paid  that  off  last  week,"  explained  Jack. 

Echo  felt  deeply  hurt  that  this  news  should  have 
been  kept  from  her  by  her  husband. 

"You  did,  and  never  told  me?"  she  chided.  "Where 
did  you  get  the  money?"  she  inquired. 

"Why,  I "  Jack  halted.  He  could  not  frame 

an  excuse  at  once,  nor  invent  a  new  lie  to  cover  his 
old  sin.  Deeper  and  deeper  he  was  getting  into  the 
mire  of  deception. 

Echo  had  arisen  from  the  seat.  "It  was  over  three 
thousand  dollars,  wasn't  it?"  she  insisted. 

"Something  like  that,"  answered  Jack  noncommit- 
tally. 

"Well,  where  did  you  get  it?"  demanded  his  wife. 


The  Round-Up  &7 

"An  old  debt — a  friend  of  mine — I  loaned  him 
the  money  a  long  time  ago  and  he  paid  it  back — that's 
all." 

Jack  took  a  drink  of  water  from  the  olla  to  hide  his 
confusion. 

"Who  was  it?"  persisted  Echo. 

"You  wouldn't  know  if  I  told  you.  Now  just  stop 
talking  business." 

"It  isn't  fair,"  declared  Echo.  "You  share  all  the 
good  things  of  life  with  me,  and  I  want  to  share  some 
of  your  business  worries.  I  want  to  stand  my  share 
of  the  bad." 

Jack  saw  he  must  humor  her.  "When  the  bad 
comes  I'll  tell  you,"  he  assured  her,  patting  her  hand. 

"You  stand  between  me  and  the  world.  You're  like 
a  great  big  mountain,  standing  guard  over  a  little  tree 
in  the  valley,  keeping  the  cold  north  wind  from  treat- 
ing it  too  roughly."  She  sighed  contentedly.  "But 
the  mountain  does  it  all." 

Jack  looked  down  tenderly  at  his  little  wife.  Her 
love  for  him  moved  him  deeply. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said  to  her.  "The  little  tree  grows 
green  and  beautiful.  It  casts  a  welcome  shade  about 
it,  and  the  heart  of  the  mountain  is  made  glad  to  its 


i88  The   Round-Up 

rocky  core  to  know  that  the  safety  of  that  little  tree 
is  in  its  keeping." 

Taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  again  and 
again. 

"Kissing  again,"  shouted  Polly  from  the  doorway. 
"Say,  will  you  two  never  settle  down  to  business? 
There's  Bud  Lane  and  a  bunch  of  others  just  come 
into  the  corral — maybe  they  want  you,  Jack." 

Jack  excused  himself.  As  he  stepped  out  on  the 
piazza  he  asked  Polly:  "Shall  I  send  Bud  in?" 

"Let  him  come  in  if  he  wants  to.  I'm  not  sending 
for  him."  Polly  spitefully  turned  up  her  nose  at  him. 
Jack  laughed  as  he  closed  the  door. 

Echo  reseated  herself  at  the  piano,  fingering  the 
keys. 

"How  are  you  getting  on  with  Bud?"  she  asked  the 
younger  girl. 

"We  don't  get  on  a  little  bit,"  she  snapped.  "Bud 
never  seems  to  collect  much  revenue  an'  we  just  keep 
trottin'  slow  like — wish  I  was  married  and  had  a  home 
of  my  own." 

"Aren't  you  happy  with  father  and  mother?" 

Polly  glanced  at  Echo  with  a  smile.  "Lord,  yes," 
she  replied,  "in  a  way,  but  I'm  only  a  poor  relation — 


The    Round-Up 


your  ma  was  my  ma's  cousin's  cousin  or  something 
like  that." 

Echo  laughed.  "Nonsense,"  she  retorted.  "Non- 
sense —  you're  my  dear  sister,  and  the  only  daughter 
that's  at  the  old  home  now." 

"But  I  want  a  home  of  my  own,  like  this,"  said 
Polly. 

"Then  you'd  better  shake  Bud  and  give  Slim  a 
chance." 

Polly  was  too  disgusted  to  answer  at  once.  "Slim 
Hoover,  shucks!  Slim  doesn't  care  for  girls  —  he's 
afraid  of  'em,"  she  said  at  length.  "I  like  Bud,  with 
all  his  orneriness,"  she  declared. 

"Why  doesn't  he  come  to  see  you  more  often?" 

"I  don't  know,  maybe  it's  because  he's  never  for- 
given you  for  marryin'  Jack." 

"Why  should  he  mind  that?"  she  asked,  startled. 

"Well,  you  know,"  she  answered  between  stitches, 
drawing  the  needle  through  the  cloth  with  angry  lit- 
tle jerks,  "Bud,  he  never  quite  believed  Dick  was 
dead." 

Echo  rose  hastily.  The  vague,  haunting  half- 
thoughts  of  weeks  were  crystallized  on  the  instant. 
She  felt  as  if  Dick  was  trying  to  speak  to  her  from 


*9°  TheRound-Up 

out  of  the  great  beyond.  With  a  shudder  she  sank 
into  a  chair  at  the  table  opposite  Polly. 

"Don't,"  she  said,  her  voice  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per, "I  can't  bear  to  hear  him  spoken  of.  I  dreamed 
of  him  the  other  night — a  dreadful  dream." 

Polly  was  delighted  with  this  new  mystery.  It  was 
all  so  romantic. 

"Did  you?  let's  hear  it." 

With  unseeing  eyes  Echo  gazed  straight  ahead  re- 
building from  her  dream  fabric  a  tragedy  of  the 
desert,  in  which  the  two  men  who  had  played  so  great 
a  part  in  her  life  were  the  actors. 

"It  seems,"  she  told,  "that  I  was  in  the  desert,  such 
a  vast,  terrible  desert,  where  the  little  dust  devils 
eddied  and  swirled,  and  the  merciless  sun  beat  down 
until  it  shriveled  up  every  growing  thing." 

Polly  nodded  her  head  sagely. 

"That's  the  way  the  desert  looks — and  no  water." 

Echo  paid  no  heed  to  the  interruption.  Her  face  be- 
came wan  and  haggard,  as  in  her  mind's  eye  she  saw 
the  weary  waste  of  waterless  land  quiver  and  swim 
under  the  merciless  sun.  Not  a  tree,  not  a  blade  of 
grass,  not  a  sign  of  life  broke  the  monotony  of  crum- 
bling cliffs  and  pinnacled  rocks.  Onward  and  ever 


The    Round-Up 


onward  stretched  yellow  ridges  and  alkali-whitened 
ravines,  blinding  the  eye  and  parching  the  throat. 

"Then  I  saw  a  man  staggering  toward  me,"  she 
continued;  "his  face  was  white  and  drawn,  his  lips 
cracked  and  parched  —  now  and  then  he  would  stumble 
and  fall,  and  lie  there  on  his  face  in  the  hot  sand, 
digging  into  it  with  his  bony  fingers  seeking  for 
water." 

Echo  shut  her  eyes  as  if  to  blot  out  the  picture. 
Its  reality  almost  overpowered  her. 

"Suddenly  he  raised  his  eyes  to  mine,"  she  resumed, 
after  a  pause.  "It  was  Dick." 

In  her  excitement  she  had  arisen,  stretching  out  her 
arms  as  if  to  ward  off  an  apparition. 

"He  tried  to  call  me.  I  saw  his  lips  move,  framing 
my  name.  Dragging  himself  to  his  feet,  he  came  to- 
ward me  with  his  arms  outstretched.  Then  another 
form  appeared  between  us  fighting  to  keep  him  back. 
They  fought  there  under  the  burning  sun  in  the  hot 
dust  of  the  desert  until  at  last  one  was  crushed  to 
earth.  The  victor  raised  his  face  to  mine,  and  —  it 
was  Jack." 

Echo  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.     Dry  sobs  shook 


TheRound-Up 


her  bosom.  Awe-stricken,  Polly  gazed  at  the  over- 
wrought wife. 

"Pfew!"  she  laughed,  to  shake  off  her  fright.  "That 
was  a  sure  enough  nightmare.  If  I'd  a  dream  like 
that  I'd  wake  up  the  whole  house  yapping  like  a 
coyote." 

As  the  commonplace  ever  intrudes  upon  the  un- 
usual, so  a  knock  on  the  door  relieved  the  tension  of 
the  situation.  It  was  Slim.  He  did  not  wait  for  an 
invitation  to  enter,  but,  opening  the  door,  asked  :  "Can 
I  come  in?" 

"Sure,  come  in,"  cried  Polly,  glad  to  find  any  ex- 
cuse to  shake  off  the  depression  of  Echo's  dream. 

"Howdy,  Mrs.  Payson,  just  come  over  to  see  Jack," 
was  the  jolly  Sheriff's  greeting. 

"I7e's  down  at  the  corral,"  she  informed  him. 

Mrs.  Allen  hurried  in  from  the  kitchen  at  this  mo- 
ment, calling:  "Echo,  come  here,  and  look  at  this 
yere  cake.  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  sot  upon." 

Echo  closed  the  lid  of  the  piano  and  called  her  motn- 
er's  attention  to  the  presence  of  Slim  Hoover. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Slim  Hoover  ?  —  you  might  have  left 
some  of  that  dust  outside." 

The  Sheriff  was  greatly  embarrassed  by  her  chiding. 


TheRound-Up 


In  his  ride  from  Florence  to  the  Sweetwater,  the  alkali 
and  sand  stirred  up  by  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  had 
settled  on  his  hat  and  waistcoat  so  fredy  that  his  cloth- 
ing had  assumed  a  neutral,  gray  tone  above  which  his 
sun-tanned  face  and  red  hair  loomed  like  the  moon 
in  a  fog.  Josephine's  scolding  drove  him  to  brush  his 
shoulders  with  his  hat,  raising  a  cloud  of  dus*  about 
his  head. 

"Stop  it  !"  Mrs.  Allen  shouted  shrilly.  "Slim  Hoo- 
ver, if  your  brains  was  dynamite  you  couldn't  blow 
the  top  of  your  head  off." 

Polly  was  greatly  amused  by  Slim's  encounter  with 
the  cleanly  Mrs.  Allen.  Slim  stood  with  open  mouth, 
watching  Mrs.  Allen  flounce  out  of  the  room  after 
Polly,  who  was  trying  in  vain  to  suppress  her  laugh- 
ter. Turning  to  the  girl,  he  said  :  "Ain't  seen  you  in 
some  time." 

Slim  was  thankful  that  the  girl  was  seated  at  the 
table  with  her  back  to  him.  Somehow  or  other  he 
found  he  could  speak  to  her  more  freely  when  she 
was  not  looking  at  him. 

"That  so?"  she  challenged.  "Come  to  the  birth- 
day?" 

"Not  regular,"  he  answered. 


194  TheRound-Up 

Polly  glanced  at  him  over  her  shoulder.  The  look 
was  too  much  for  Slim.  He  turned  away  to  hide  his 
embarrassment.  Partly  recovering  from  his  bashful- 
ness,  he  coughed,  preparatory  to  speaking.  But  Polly 
had  vanished.  As  one  looks  sheepishly  for  the  ma- 
gician's disappearing  coin,  so  Slim  gazed  at  floor  and 
ceiling  as  if  the  girl  might  pop  up  anywhere.  Spying 
an  empty  chair  behind  him,  he  sank  into  it  gingerly 
and  awkwardly. 

Meantime  Polly  returned  with  a  broom  and  began 
sweeping  out  the  evidences  of  Slim's  visit.  She  spoke 
again : 

"Get  them  hold-ups  yet  that  killed  'Ole  Man'  Ter- 
rill?"  she  asked. 

"Not  yet.  But  we  had  a  new  shootin'  over'n  our 
town  yesterday." 

Slim  was  doing  his  best  to  make  conversation. 
Polly  did  not  help  him  out  very  freely. 

"That  so?"  was  her  reply. 

"Spotted  Taylor  shot  two  Chinamen." 

Polly's  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"What  for?"  she  asked,  stopping  her  sweeping  for 
a  moment. 


The    Round-Up 

"Just  to  give  the  new  graveyard  a  start,"  Slim 
chuckled. 

Polly  joined  in  his  merriment. 

"Spotted  Taylor  was  always  a  public-spirited  citi- 
zen," was  her  comment. 

"He  sure  was,"  assented  Slim. 

"Get  up  there.  I  want  to  sweep  under  that  chair." 
Polly  brushed  Slim's  feet  with  the  broom  vigorously. 
With  an  elaborate  "Excuse  me,"  Slim  arose,  but  re- 
seated himself  in  another  chair  directly  in  the  pathway 
of  Polly's  broom. 

"Get  out  of  there,  too,"  she  cried. 

"Shucks,  there  ain't  any  room  for  me  nowhere," 
he  muttered  disgustedly. 

"You  shouldn't  take  up  so  much  of  it." 

Slim  attempted  to  take  a  seat  on  the  small  gilt 
chair  which  was  Jack's  wedding-present  to  Echo. 
Polly  caught  sight  of  him  in  time.  "Look  out,"  she 
shouted.  "That  chair  wasn't  built  for  a  full-grown 
man  like  you." 

Slim  nervously  replaced  the  chair  before  a  writing- 
desk.  Polly  wielded  her  broom  about  the  feet  of  the 
Sheriff,  who  danced  clumsily  about,  trying  to  avoid 
her. 


196  TheRound-Up 

"You're  just  trying  to  sweep  me  out  of  here,"  he 
complained. 

"Well,  if  you  will  bring  dust  in  with  you,  you  must 
expect  to  be  swept  out,"  Polly  replied,  with  a  show 
of  spirit. 

Polly  was  shaking  the  mat  vigorously  at  the  door, 
when  Slim  said: 

"I  see  they  buried  Poker  Bill  this  mornin'." 

"Is  he  dead?"  It  was  the  first  Polly  had  heard  of 
the  passing  away  of  one  of  the  characters  of  the  Ter- 
ritory. She  had  expressed  her  surprise  in  the  form 
of  an  interrogation,  emphasizing  the  "he,"  a  collo- 
quialism of  the  Southwest. 

Slim,  however,  had  chosen  to  ignore  the  manner 
of  speech,  and  with  a  grin  answered:  "Ye-es,  that's 
why  they  buried  him." 

Polly  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  "What  did  he 
die  of?"  she  asked. 

As  Slim  was  about  to  take  a  drink  at  the  olla,  he 
failed  to  hear  her 

"Eh?"  he  grunted. 

"What  did  he  die  of?"  she  repeated. 

"Five  aces,"  was  the  sober  reply  of  the  Sheriff,  be- 
fore he  drained  the  gourd. 


The   Round-Up 


Polly  put  the  broom  back  of  the  door,  and  was  re- 
arranging the  articles  on  the  table,  before  Slim  could 
muster  up  enough  courage  to  speak  on  the  topic  which 
was  always  uppermost  in  his  mind  when  in  her  pres- 
ence. 

"Say,  Miss  Polly  -  "  he  began. 

"If  you've  anything  to  say  to  me,  Slim  Hoover,  just 
say  it  —  I  can't  be  bothered  to-day  —  all  the  fixin's  and 
things,"  saucily  advised  the  girl. 

"Well,  what  I  want  to  say  is  -  "  began  the 
Sheriff. 

At  this  moment  Bud  Lane,  laboring  under  heavy 
excitement,  burst  open  the  door. 

"Say,  Slim,  you're  wanted  down  at  the  corral,"  he 
cried,  paying  no  heed  to  Polly. 

"Shucks!"  exclaimed  the  disappointed  Sheriff. 
"What's  the  row?" 

"I  don't  know  —  Buck  McKee  —  he's  there  with  some 
of  the  Lazy  K  outfit.  They  want  to  sec  you." 

Slim  threw  himself  out  the  door  with  the  mild  ex- 
pletive :  "Darn  the  luck  !" 

Bud  turned  quickly  to  Polly.  "Did  Jack  pay  off 
the  mortgage  last  week?"  he  almost  shouted  at  the 
girl. 


198  The   Round-Up 

Polly  stamped  her  foot  in  anger  at  what  seemed 
to  her  to  be  a  totally  irrelevant  question  to  the  love- 
making  she  expected:  "How  do  I  know?"  she  angrily 
replied.  "If  that  is  all  you  came  to  see  me  for,  you 
can  go  and  ask  him.  It  makes  me  so  dog-gone  mad!" 

Polly,  with  flushed  face  and  knitted  brow,  left  the 
bewildered  Bud  standing  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
asking  himself  what  it  was  all  about. 

The  sound  of  the  voices  of  disputing  men  floated 
in  from  the  corral.  Bud  heard  them,  and  compre- 
hended its  significance. 

"It's  all  up  with  me,"  he  cried,  m  mortal  terror. 
"Buck  McKee  has  stirred  up  the  suspicion  against  Jack 
Payson.  Jack  paid  off  his  mortgage,  and  they  want 
to  know  where  he  raised  the  money.  Well,  Jack  can 
tell.  If  he  can't,  I'll  confess  the  whole  business.  I 
won't  let  him  suffer  for  me.  Buck  sha'n't  let  an  inno- 
cent man  hang  for  what  we've  done." 

The  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  piazza  and  the  open- 
ing of  the  door  drove  Bud  to  take  refuge  in  an  ad- 
joining room,  where  he  could  overhear  all  that  was 
happening.  He  closed  the  door  as  the  cow-punchers 
entered  with  Slim  at  their  head. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Accusation  and  Confession. 

Buck  McKee  had  not  been  idle  in  the  days  follow- 
ing the  slaying  of  "Ole  Man"  Terrill.  Having  learned 
that  Slim  and  his  posse  had  discovered  only  the  fact 
that  the  murderer  had  ridden  a  pacing  horse  to  the 
ford,  McKee  took  full  advantage  of  this  fact.  In 
the  cow-camps,  the  barrooms,  and  at  the  railroad-sta- 
tion he  hinted,  at  first,  that  a  certain  person  every  one 
knew  could  tell  a  lot  more  about  the  death  of  the  old 
man  than  he  cared  to  have  known.  After  a  few  days 
he  began  to  bring  the  name  of  Payson  into  the  conver- 
sation. His  gossip  became  rumor,  and  then  common 
report.  When  it  became  known  that  Jack  had  paid 
off  the  mortgage  on  his  ranch,  Buck  came  out  with  the 
accusation  that  Payson  was  the  murderer.  Finding 
that  he  was  listened  to,  Buck  made  the  direct  charge 
that  Payson  had  killed  the  station-agent,  and  with 
the  proceeds  of  the  robbery  was  paying  off  his  old 
debts. 

Gathering  his  own  men  about  him,  and  being  joined 


200  TheRound-Up 

by  the  idle  hangers-on,  which  are  to  be  found  about 
every  town,  Buck  lead  his  party  to  the  ranch  on  the 
Sweetwater  to  accuse  Jack,  and  so  throw  off,  in  ad- 
vance, any  suspicions  which  might  attach  to  himself. 

Fortunately,  Slim  happened  to  be  at  Jack's  ranch  at 
the  time.  When  he  entered  the  corral  he  found  Jack's 
accusers  and  defenders  rapidly  nearing  a  battle. 

Jack  was  taking  the  charges  coolly  enough,  as  he 
did  not  know  what  support  McKee  had  manufactured 
to  uphold  the  charges  he  made.  Slim  informed  Mc- 
Kee he  would  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say,  and  if 
afterward  he  thought  Jack  guilty,  he  would  place  him 
under  arrest.  For  all  concerned  it  would  be  better  to 
go  into  the  house.  The  Sweetwater  boys  surrounded 
Jack  as  they  followed  Slim  into  the  living-room.  Li- 
ning up  in  opposing  groups,  Slim  stood  in  the  center, 
to  serve  as  judge  and  jury,  with  Buck  and  Jack  at  his 
right  and  left  hand. 

Inside  the  door  Jack  said:  "Keep  as  quiet  as  you 
can,  boys.  I  don't  want  to  alarm  my  wife.  Now, 
what  is  it?" 

The  punchers  hushed  their  discussion  of  the  charge, 
and  listened  attentively  to  what  the  men  most  inter- 
ested had  to  say. 


The    Round-Up  201 

"Well,  darn  it  all,"  apologized  the  Sheriff  to  Jack, 
"it's  all  darn  fool  business,  anyway.  Buck  here  he 
started  it." 

Jack  smiled  sarcastically,  and,  glancing  at  McKee, 
remarked:  "Buck  McKee's  started  a  good  many 
things  in  his  day " 

Buck  began  to  bluster.  He  could  not  face  Jack  fair- 
ly. Already  placed  on  the  defense,  when  he  had  con- 
sidered he  would  be  the  accuser,  McKee  took  refuge 
in  the  plea  of  being  wronged  by  false  suspicion. 

"I  ain't  goin',"  he  whined,  "to  have  folks  suspicion 
me  of  any  such  doin's  as  the  killin'  of  'Ole  Man'  Ter- 
rill.  I  got  a  witness  to  prove  I  wasn't  in  twenty  miles 
of  the  place." 

"Who's  your  witness?"  asked  Slim,  in  his  most  ju- 
dicial tones. 

"Bud  Lane — me  an'  him  rode  over  to  the  weddin* 
together — from  the  Lazy  K,  an'  I  was  put  out  as  not 
fittin'  to  be  there,  an'  by  that  very  man  there  that  did 
the  killin'." 

The  punchers  had  to  grin,  in  spite  of  the  seriousness 
of  the  occasion.  Buck  appeared  to  be  deeply  hurt  at 
the  unceremonious  way  he  had  been  left  out  at  the 
feast. 


202  TheRound-Up 

"What  makes  you  point  to  me  as  the  man?"  asked 
Jack  quietly. 

"You  was  late  gettin'  to  your  own  weddin'." 

Fresno  could  not  repress  his  feelings  any  longer. 
He  started  angrily  toward  McKee,  but  Jack  and  Sage- 
brush held  him  back.  The  others  were  about  to  fol- 
low his  lead,  when  Slim  motioned  them  back  with  the 
caution :  "Keep  out  of  this,  boys !" 

"I  was  late,"  explained  Jack,  "but  I  told  you  I  rode 
around  to  the  station  to  get  a  wedding-present  I  or- 
dered for  my  wife " 

Jim  interrupted  him  to  substantiate  the  statement. 
Pointing  to  a  chair,  he  said :  "That's  so.  There  it  is, 
too— that  there  chair." 

The  Sweetwater  outfit  nodded  in  acquiescence,  but 
the  others  looked  incredulous. 

Buck  sneered  at  the  defense  which  Jack  made.  "No- 
body saw  you  over  that  way,  did  they?" 

"I  saw  Terrill.  It  must  have  been  just  before  he 
was  killed.  I  didn't  meet  anybody  else."  Jack  showed 
no  trace  of  temper  under  the  inquisition. 

"Of  course  you  saw  him  before  he  was  killed — 
about  a  minute.  Mebbe  you  didn't  plug  him  the  next 
minute  with  a  .44." 


The    Round-Up  203 

The  charge  roused  Sage-brush's  righting  blood. 
Drawing  his  gun,  he  attempted  to  get  a  fair  shot  at 
the  accuser.  Fresno  and  Show  Low  grabbed  him  by 
the  arms,  holding  him  back.  The  foreman  shouted: 
"There'll  be  some  one  plugged  right  now  if  you-all 
make  another  break  like  that." 

Slim  waved  his  hands  over  his  head,  driving  the 
men  backward,  as  if  he  were  shooing  away  a  flock  of 
chickens. 

"Easy  now — easy,"  he  drawled.  "There  ain't 
a-goin'  to  be  no  thin'  doin'  here,  'cept  law  an'  justice." 

Buck  laughed  sneeringly  at  the  wavering  of  his  men. 
He  would  have  to  do  something1  to  put  more  heart 
into  them  and  regain  the  ground  he  had  lost  by  his 
single-handed  conduct  of  the  case. 

"There  ain't,  eh  ?"  he  asked  contemptuously.  "Well, 
it's  lucky  I  brought  some  of  my  own  outfit  with  me." 

"Mebbe  you'll  need  them  if  you  get  too  careless 
with  your  talk,"  answered  the  unruffled  Sheriff. 

Turning  to  Jack,  Slim  said:  "This  fool  thing  can 
be  settled  with  one  word  from  you." 

The  young  ranchman  listened  to  the  Sheriff  earnest- 
ly. He  wished  to  clear  himself  forever  of  all  suspi- 
cions. He  did  not  want  Echo  ever  to  hear  that  there 


304  The    Round-Up 

was  a  false  impression  abroad  that  she  was  the  wife  of 
a  slayer.  "What  is  it  ?"  he  asked  simply. 

"Why,  you  paid  off  a  mortgage  of  an  even  three 
thousan'  dollars  last  week,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?"  he  asked. 

Buck  broke  in  at  this  point.  Here  was  the  strongest 
card  that  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  the  Sheriff  had  played 
it  to  McKee's  advantage. 

"Plenty,"  Buck  shouted.  "Old  Terrill  was  shot 
and  killed  and  robbed,  an'  the  man  who  did  it  got  just 
three  thousan'  dollars." 

"An'  you  mean  to  say  that  the  boss  here "  began 

Sage-brush,  in  his  anger  making  a  rush  at  McKee. 
He  was  held  back,  but  the  disturbance  attracted  Echo 
and  Mrs.  Allen  from  the  kitchen.  Echo  hurried  to 
her  husband's  side.  He  slipped  his  arm  about  her 
waist,  and  together  they  faced  his  accuser. 

"All  you  got  to  say  is  where  did  you  get  that 
money,"  cried  Buck,  who  had  seen  Dick  Lane  pay  it 
to  Payson,  and  conjectured  that  Payson  did  not  dare 
to  reveal  the  fact  of  this  payment,  with  all  the  dis- 
closure it  implied. 

"Why,  it  was  paid  to  me  by "  Then  Jack 

stopped.  He  could  not  tell  who  gave  him  the  money 


The   Round-Up  205 

without  revealing  to  Echo  the  return  of  Dick.  The 
whole  miserable  lie  would  then  come  out.  Echo  no- 
ticed Jack's  hesitancy. 

"What  is  it — what's  the  matter?"  she  asked,  in 
frightened  tones. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  he  answered  lightly,  to  lessen 
her  terror. 

"Hats  off,  everybody,"  commanded  Slim,  in  defer- 
ence to  the  presence  of  Echo. 

"Who  are  these  men — what's  wrong?"  pleaded 
Echo. 

Buck  bowed  to  the  trembling  woman,  who  had 
thrown  her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck. 

"Nothin',"  he  exclaimed.  "Only  we  want  to  know 
where  your  husband  got  the  money  to  pay  off  the 
mortgage  on  this  ranch." 

The  request  seemed  a  very  simple  one  to  Echo.  All 
the  talk  of  harming  Jack,  the  high  words,  the  threats, 
could  be  silenced  easily  by  her  hero.  Smiling  into  his 
eyes,  Echo  said:  "Tell  them,  Jack." 

"I  can't,"  he  faltered. 

"It  was  paid  to  him  by  a  friend,"  bravely  began 
Echo.  "A  friend  to  whom  he  lent  it  some  time  ago." 

Buck  interrupted  her  explanation.     "Then  let  him 


206  The    Round-Up 

tell  his  friend's  name,  and  where  we  can  find  him." 
Turning  to  Jack,  he  bullied:  "Come  on — what's  his 
name  ?" 

Jack  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  his  wife. 
In  his  agony  he  clenched  his  fists,  until  his  nails  sank 
into  the  flesh.  "I  can't  tell  you  that,"  he  cried,  in  his 
misery. 

"Of  course  he  can't,"  sneered  Buck,  smiling  evilly  in 
his  triumph. 

"He  can't  account  for  himself  on  the  night  of  the 
weddin';  he  rides  a  pacin'  horse — rode  on  that  night; 
he  gets  three  thousan'  dollars  paid  him,  and  he  can't 
tell  who  paid  it;  what's  the  verdict?"  Buck  did  not 
wait  for  an  answer.  Raising  his  voice,  he  shouted: 
"Guilty." 

"Damn  you,"  bellowed  Sage-brush,  lunging  toward 
him,  only  to  be  held  in  restraint  by  his  associates. 

"Jack!    Jack!  what  have  you  to  say?"  begged  Echo. 

"Nothing,"  was  his  only  answer. 

"Tell  him  he  lies !"  cried  Sage-brush.  "Jack,  we  all 
know  you — you're  as  white  a  man  as  ever  lived,  an' 
they  ain't  one  of  this  outfit  that  ain't  ready  to  die  for 
you  right  now " 

"You  bet!"  chorused  his  men. 


The   Round-Up  207 

"He  ain't  goin'  to  get  off  like  that,"  declared  Buck. 
Looking  confidently  at  his  own  followers,  he  said: 
"The  Lazy  K  can  take  care  of  him." 

Buck's  men  moved  closer  to  him,  preparing  to  draw 
their  guns,  if  need  be,  and  open  fire  on  Jack's  defend- 
ers. 

"Look  out,  boss!"  warned  Sage-brush,  at  the  hostile 
movement  of  Buck  and  his  punchers. 

"Hold  on !"  drawled  the  Sheriff,  who,  as  the  danger 
grew  more  real,  became  more  deliberate  in  his  move- 
ments. "They  ain't  goin'  to  be  nothin'  done  here  un- 
less it's  done  in  the  law — you  all  know  me,  boys — I'm 
the  sheriff — this  man's  my  prisoner."  Pointing  to 
Jack,  he  added:  "There  ain't  nobody  goin'  to  take 
him  from  me — an'  live." 

Buck  saw  Jack  slipping  from  his  clutches.  "You're 
not  goin'  to  be  bluffed  by  one  man,  are  you,  boys?" 

"No,"  his  punchers  answered  in  unison,  crowding 
toward  Jack,  who  held  up  his  hand  and  cried :  "Stop ! 
I  want  a  fair  deal,  and  I'll  get  it." 

"I'll  settle  this  thing  all  right.  All  I  ask  is  a  few 
words  alone  with  my  wife." 

Jack  clasped  Echo  to  his  breast  as  he  begged  this 
boon  from  the  men  who  sought  his  life. 


TheRound-Up 


"No!"  blustered  Buck. 

"Yes,"  ordered  Slim  quietly  but  emphatically.  "Mr. 
Payson  —  you'll  give  me  your  word  you  won't  try  to 
escape  ?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Jack. 

"His  word  don't  go  with  us,"  shouted  Buck. 

Slim  laid  his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his  revolver,  ready 
to  draw,  if  necessary,  to  enforce  his  command.  Buck 
saw  the  movement,  and  shouted  to  him  :  "Keep  your 
hand  away  from  that  gun,  Sheriff.  You  know  I  am 
quick  on  the  draw."  He  significantly  fingered  his 
holster  as  he  spoke. 

"So  I've  heard  tell,"  agreed  Slim,  hastily  with- 
drawing his  hand  from  his  revolver. 

Slim  appeared  to  agree  to  the  surrender  of  Jack  to 
Buck  and  his  punchers,  permitting  them  to  deal  with 
him  as  they  saw  fit.  He  fumbled  in  his  left-hand 
waistcoat  pocket,  pulling  out  a  bag  of  tobacco  and  a 
package  of  rice  paper.  Ostentatiously  he  began  to  roll 
a  cigarette.  Then,  with  the  quickness  of  a  cat,  his  left 
hand  was  plunged  in  the  inside  right-hand  pocket  of 
his  waistcoat.  Grasping  a  revolver  by  the  muzzle, 
he  deftly  jerked  it  upward,  and  seized  the  handle  in  its 
flight.  He  covered  Buck  McKee  before  that  worthy 


TheRound-Up 


realized  what  had  happened.  With  his  right  hand 
Slim  pulled  the  weapon  which  swung  at  his  hip,  and 
aimed  it  at  the  other  boys  of  the  Lazy  K.  The  guns 
moved  up  and  down  the  line,  backed  by  the  Sheriff's 
usually  mild  blue  eyes,  coldly  steady  now  at  the  call 

f» 

to  battle. 

"I'll  give  you  a  lesson  in  pullin'  guns,  though,"  he 
declared,  his  voice  as  steady  as  his  hands.  "Don't 
move,  Buck,"  he  warned,  as  McKee  wavered.  "Nor 
any  others  of  you.  I'm  playin'  this  hand  alone.  Buck 
McKee,  you've  been  flirtin'  with  a  tombstone  for  some 
time.  Hands  up,  gents,"  he  ordered,  raising  the  pis- 
tols significantly. 

"I  said  gents,"  he  repeated,  when  Buck  McKee  did 
not  obey  him  with  alacrity.  The  balked  leader  of  the 
Lazy  K  outfit  reluctantly  held  his  hands  aloft. 

"Sage-brush!"  called  Slim. 

"Here,"  answered  the  foreman,  covering  a  man  with 
his  revolver. 

"Parenthesis  !"  summoned  the  Sheriff. 

"Here,"  the  man  of  the  bowlegs  replied,  as  he  drew 
his  gun. 

"Me,  too,"  cried  Fresno,  while  Show  Low  came  to 
the  front  with  "An'  likewise  here." 


210  The    Round-Up 

When  the  Lazy  K  outfit  was  thoroughly  under  sub- 
jection, Slim  stepped  forward  and  said:  "Now,  gen- 
tlemen, if  you  please.  You  see,  this  yere's  my  party, 
an'  I  regalate  it  my  way.  Jack  here  gave  his  word  to 
stay  and  face  this  thing  out.  He's  a-goin'  to  do  it. 
I'm  responsible  for  him — Sage-brush,  you  will  collect 
at  the  door  sech  articles  of  hardware  as  these  gentle- 
men has  in  their  belts — I  deputize  you.  Gents,  as  you 
walk  out  the  do',  you  will  deposit  yo'  weapons  with 
Mr.  Sage-brush  Charley — the  same  to  be  returned  to 
you  when  the  court  sees  fit  and  proper." 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  let  him "  Buck  did  not  fin- 
ish the  sentence,  for  Slim,  thoroughly  aroused, 
shouted :  "Buck  McKee,  if  you  say  another  word,  I'm 
goin'  to  kill  you.  Gents,  there's  the  door — your  hosses 
are  in  the  corral — get." 

Preceded  by  some  of  the  Sweetwater  boys,  the  Lazy 
K  outfit  filed  out,  Sage-brush  taking  their  guns  as  they 
passed  him.  Fresno  and  Parenthesis  brought  up  the 
rear. 

"He  needn't  think  he'll  escape.  We're  bound  to 
have  him,"  declared  Buck. 

"Are  you  goin'?"  demanded  Slim,  his  voice  full  of 
menace. 


The   Round-Up  211 

"Can't  you  see  me  ?"  sneered  Buck. 

Sage-brush  relieved  him  of  his  gun  as  he  passed, 
handing  it  to  Fresno.  Buck  paused  in  the  doorway 
long  enough  to  lament :  "Talk  of  hospitality.  I  never 
get  in  but  what  I  am  put  out." 

Slim  watched  McKee  from  the  window  until  he  dis- 
appeared through  the  gate  of  the  corral.  Then  walk- 
ing down  to  Jack,  he  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"It'll  be  all  right  in  an  hour — thank  you,  boys,'" 
Payson  assured  them. 

"We  all  know  you  are  the  whitest  man  on  the 
Sweetwater,"  assured  Sage-brush,  speaking  for  the 
punchers,  as  they  left  Jack  a  prisoner  with  Slim. 

Speaking  in  a  low  tone,  Jim  asked  Jack:  "Where 
did  you  get  that  money?" 

"Don't  you  know  ?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"From " 

Jack  nodded  his  head. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  in  the  other  room,"  said  Slim. 

"Maw,  Polly,  we  all  better  leave  'em  alone." 

As  the  woman  and  the  girl  left  the  room,  the  old 
ranchman  paused  at  the  doorway,  leading  to  the  kitch- 
en, to  advise  his  son-in-law  earnestly:  "I  'low  you 
better  tell  her;  it's  best." 


2i2  TheRound-Up 

The  two  young  people  were  left  alone  in  the  room 
in  which  they  had  passed  so  many  happy  hours  to  face 
a  crisis  in  their  lives.  The  day  which  had  begun  so 
sunnily  was  to  end  in  darkest  clouds.  The  awful  ac- 
cusation was  incredible  to  Echo.  Her  faith  in  her 
husband  was  not  shaken.  Jack,  she  felt,  could  explain. 
But,  no  matter  what  the  outcome  might  be,  she  would 
be  loyal  to  the  man  she  loved.  On  this  point  she  felt 
wholly  confident.  Had  she  not  pledged  her  faith  at 
the  marriage  altar? 

"Jack?"  a  volume  of  questions  was  in  the  word. 
Taking  her  hands  in  his  and  looking  searchingly  into 
her  eyes,  he  said : 

"Before  I  tell  you  what's  been  on  my  mind  these 
many  weeks — I  want  to  hold  you  in  my  arms  and  hear 
you  say:  "Jack,  I  believe  in  you." 

Echo  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and,  nestling  close 
to  his  breast,  declared :  "I  do  believe  in  you — no  mat- 
ter what  circumstances  may  be  against  you.  No  mat- 
ter if  all  the  world  calls  you  guilty — I  believe  in  you, 
and  love  you." 

Jack  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  drew  his  wife 
down  beside  him.  Putting  his  arms  about  her  as  she 
knelt  before  him,  he  murmured:  "You're  a  wife— a 


The   Round-Up  213 

wife  of  the  West,  as  fair  as  its  skies  and  as  steadfast 
as  its  hills — and  I — I'm  not  worthy " 

"Not  worthy — you  haven't — it  isn't "  gasped 

Echo,  starting  back  from  him,  thinking  that  Jack  was 
about  to  confess  that  under  some  strange  stress  of  cir- 
cumstances he  had  slain  the  express-agent. 

"No,  it  isn't  that,"  hastily  answered  Jack,  with  a 
shudder  at  the  idea.  "I've  lied  to  you,"  he  simply  con- 
fessed. 

"Lied  to  me — you  ?"  cried  Echo,  in  dismay. 

"I've  been  a  living  lie  for  months,"  relentlessly  con- 
tinued Jack,  nerving  himself  for  the  ordeal  through 
which  he  would  have  to  pass. 

"Jack,"  wailed  Echo,  shrinking  from  him  on  her 
knees,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"It's  about  Dick." 

Echo  started.  Again  Dick  Lane  had  arisen  as  from 
out  the  grave. 

"What  of  him?"  she  asked,  rising  to  her  feet  and 
moving  away  from  him. 

"He  is  alive." 

Jack  did  not  dare  look  at  his  wife.  He  sat  with  his 
face  white  and  pinched  with  anguish. 

The  young  wife  groaned  in  her  agony.     The  blow 


214  TheRound-Up 

had  fallen.  Dick  alive,  and  she  now  the  wife  of  an- 
other man?  What  of  her  promise?  What  must  he 
think  of  her?" 

"I  didn't  know  it  until  after  we  were  engaged," 
pursued  Jack;  "six  months.  It  was  the  day  I  ques- 
tioned you  about  whether  you  would  keep  your  prom- 
ise to  Dick  if  he  returned.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  then, 
but  the  telling  meant  that  I  should  lose  you.  He  wrote 
to  me  from  Mexico,  where  he  had  been  in  the  hospital. 
He  was  coming  home — he  enclosed  this  letter  to  you." 

Jack  drew  from  his  pocket  the  letter  which  Dick  had 
enclosed  in  the  one  which  he  had  sent  Jack,  telling  him 
of  his  proposed  return. 

She  took  the  missive  mechanically,  and  opened  it 
slowly. 

"I  wanted  to  be  square  with  him — but  I  loved  you," 
pleaded  Jack.  "I  loved  you  better  than  life,  better 
than  honor — I  couldn't  lose  you,  and  so " 

His  words  fell  on  unheeding  ears.  She  was  not 
listening  to  his  pleadings.  Her  thoughts  dwelt  on 
Dick  Lane,  and  what  he  must  think  of  her.  She  had 
taken  refuge  at  the  piano,  on  which  she  bowed  hsr 
head  within  her  arms. 

Slowly  she  arose,  crushing  the  letter  in  her  hand. 


The  Round-Up  215 

In  a  low,  stunned  voice  she  cried :    "You  lied  to  me." 

Jack  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "Yes,"  he  con- 
fessed. "He  came  the  night  we  were  married.  I  met 
him  in  the  garden.  He  paid  that  money  he  had  bor- 
rowed from  me  when  he  went  away " 

Horror-struck,  Echo  turned  to  him.  "He  was  there 
that  night?"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  Jack.  You  knew,  and 
you  never  told  me.  I  had  given  my  word  to  marry 
him — you,  knowing  that,  have  done  this  thing  to  me  ?" 
Her  deep  emotion  showed  itself  in  her  voice.  The 
more  Jack  told  her  the  worse  became  her  plight. 

"I  loved  you."  Jack  was  defending  himself  now, 
fighting  for  his  love. 

"Did  Dick  believe  I  knew  he  was  living?"  continued 
the  girl  mercilessly. 

"He  must  have  done  so." 

"Jack!  Jack!"  sobbed  Echo,  tears  streaming  down 
her  face. 

"What  could  I  do  ?  I  was  almost  mad  with  fear  of 
losing  you.  I  was  tempted  to  kill  him  then  and  there. 
I  left  your  father  to  guard  the  door — to  keep  him  out 
until  after  the  ceremony." 

Jack  could  scarcely  control  his  voice.  The  sight  of 
Echo's  suffering  unmanned  him. 


216  The   Round-Up 

"My  father,  too,"  wailed  Echo. 

"He  thought  only  of  your  happiness,"  Jack  ex- 
claimed. 

"What  of  my  promise — my  promise  to  marry  Dick  ? 
Where  is  he?"  moaned  the  girl. 

"He's  gone  back  to  the  desert." 

Over  her  swept  the  memory  of  the  terrible  dream. 
Dick  dying  of  thirst  in  the  desert,  calling  for  her; 
crushed  to  the  earth  by  Jack  after  battling  the  awful 
silence.  She  moved  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  as  if 
following  the  summons. 

"The  desert,  my  dream,"  she  whispered,  in  awe. 

"He  is  gone  out  of  our  lives  forever,"  cried  Jack, 
facing  her  with  arms  outstretched. 

"And  you  let  him  go  away  in  the  belief  that  I  knew 
him  to  be  living?"  accused  the  wife. 

"What  will  not  a  man  do  to  keep  the  woman  he 
loves?  Dick  Lane  has  gone  from  our  lives,  he  will 
never  return,"  argued  Jack. 

"He  must,"  screamed  Echo.  "There  is  a  crime 
charged  against  you — he  must  return  to  prove  that 

your  story  as  to  the  money He  must  know 

through  your  own  lips  the  lie  that  separated  us." 

"You  love  him — you  love  him."  Jack  kept  repeating 


The   Round-Up 


the  words,  aghast  at  the  knowledge  that  Echo  seemed 
to  be  forcing  upon  him. 

"Bring  him  back  to  me."    Firmly  she  spoke. 

Jack  gazed  at  her  in  fear.  Chokingly  he  cried 
again:  "You  love  him!" 

"I  don't  know.  All  I  know  is  that  he  has  suffered, 
is  suffering  now,  through  your  treachery;  bring  him 
back  to  me,  that  I  may  stand  face  to  face  with  him, 
and  say  :  'I  have  not  lied  to  you,  I  have  not  betrayed 
your  trust.'  ' 

"You  love  him,"  he  repeated. 

"Find  him  —  bring  him  back." 

Jack  was  helpless,  speechless.  Echo's  attitude  over- 
powered him. 

The  wife  staggered  again  to  the  piano,  slowly  sink- 
ing to  the  seat.  She  had  turned  her  back  on  him.  This 
action  hurt  him  more  than  any  word  she  had  spoken. 
Her  face  was  buried  in  her  hands.  Deep  sobs  shook 
her  shoulders. 

Jack  followed  her,  to  take  her  again  in  his  arms, 
but  she  made  no  sign  of  forgiveness.  Turning,  he 
strode  to  the  rack,  and  took  down  his  hat  and  car- 
tridge-belt. Picking  up  his  rifle,  he  firmly  declared: 
"I  will  go.  I'll  search  the  plains,  the  mountains,  and 


218  The   Round-Up 

the  deserts  to  find  this  man.  I  will  offer  my  life,  if  it 
will  serve  to  place  the  life  you  love  beside  you.  Good- 
bye." 

The  sound  of  the  closing  of  the  door  roused  Echo 
to  a  full  realization  of  what  she  had  done.  She  had 
driven  the  one  man  she  really  loved  out  of  her  life; 
sent  him  forth  to  wander  over  the  face  of  the  earth  in 
search  of  Dick  Lane,  for  whom  she  no  longer  cared. 
She  must  bring  her  husband  back.  She  must  tell  him 
that  he  alone  had  her  heart  in  his  keeping. 

"No,  no,  Jack — come  back!"  she  called.  "I  love 
you,  and  you  alone — come  back !  come  back !" 

Before  she  could  throw  open  the  door  and  summon 
him  back  to  happiness  and  trust,  Bud,  who  had  heard 
the  full  confession  from  the  room  in  which  he  had 
taken  refuge  when  he  thought  Buck  would  throw  the 
blame  on  Jack,  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Stop!"  he  commanded. 

"Bud  Lane!"  exclaimed  Echo,  "you  have 
heard " 

"I've  heard — my  brother — he  is  alive!" 

Bud  spoke  rapidly.  His  belief  was  confirmed.  He 
would  have  full  revenge  for  what  his  brother  had  suf- 
fered at  Payson's  hands. 


The    Round-Up  219 

To  Echo's  plea  of  "Don't  stop  me!"  he  shouted: 
"No !"  and  caught  the  young  wife,  and  pulled  her  back 
from  the  doorway.  Echo  struggled  to  free  herself, 
but  the  young  man  was  too  strong. 

"He  had  ruined  Dick's  life,  stolen  from  him  the 
woman  he  loved,"  he  hissed  in  her  ear. 

"Jack !    Jack !"  was  her  only  answer. 

"No,  he  sha'n't  come  back — let  him  go  as  he  let  my 
brother  go,  out  of  your  life  forever." 

"I  can't— I  can't.    I  love  him!" 

Throwing  Bud  off,  she  ran  to  the  door.  Bud  pulled 
his  revolver,  and  cried:  "If  he  enters  that  door  I'll 
kill  him." 

Outside  Echo  heard  Jack  inquiring :  "Echo !  Echo ! 
you  called  me?" 

Echo  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob  to  open  the  door, 
when  she  heard  the  click  of  the  pistol's  hammer  as 
Bud  raised  it. 

With  a  prayer  in  her  eyes,  she  looked  at  the  young 
man.  He  was  obdurate.  Nothing  could  move  him. 

Turning,  she  shrieked:  "No,  I  did  not  call.  Go, 
in  God's  name,  go!" 

"Good-bye!"  was  Jack's  farewell.  The  rapid  beat 
of  horse's  hoofs  told  of  his  mounting  and  riding  away. 


220  TheRound-Up 

"Gone.    Oh,  Bud,  Bud,  what  have  you  done  ?" 

"I  should  have  killed  him,"  was  Bud's  answer,  as  he 
gazed  after  the  retreating  form  galloping  down  the 
trail. 

Mrs.  Allen,  hearing  Echo's  calls,  hastened  in  from 
the  kitchen.  She  found  her  daughter  sobbing  at  the 
table.  "What  is  the  matter,  child  ?" 

Then,  turning  to  Bud,  she  fiercely  demanded  of 
him:  "What  have  you  been  saying  to  her?" 

"Nothin',"  he  replied,  as  he  left  the  house. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother!"  wailed  Echo.  "Jack — I 
have  sent  him  away." 

"Sent  him  away,"  repeated  the  startled  Mrs.  Allen. 

"Yes,"  assured  Echo. 

"You  don't  mean  to  "say  he  is  guilty — you  don't 
mean " 

"No,  no!"  interrupted  Echo.  "Oh,  I  never  thought 
of  that — he  must  come  back — call  Dad,  call  Slim." 

Echo  had  forgotten  Jack's  promise  to  Slim.  He, 
too,  in  his  period  of  stress  had  overlooked  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  suspected  murderer.  Now  he  had  fled. 
He  must  be  brought  back  to  clear  his  good  name. 

Mrs.  Allen  called  her  husband  and  the  Sheriff  into 
the  room. 


The    Round-Up  221 

"What's  the  row?"  shouted  the  Sheriff. 

"Jack's  gone,"  cried  Mrs.  Allen. 

In  amazement  the  two  men  could  only  repeat  the 
news,  "Gone!" 

"Gone  where?"  crisply  demanded  the  Sheriff. 

"Don't  stand  there  starin';  do  something,"  scolded 
Mrs.  Allen. 

"He  gave  me  his  word  to  stay  and  face  this  thing 
out,"  shouted  the  bewildered  Slim. 

"It's  all  my  fault.  I  sent  him  away."  Echo  seized 
Slim's  hand  as  she  spoke. 

"You  sent  him  away?" 

She  fell  on  her  knees  before  him.  Lifting  her  hands 
as  in  prayer,  she  implored:  "I  never  thought  of  his 
promise  to  you.  He  never  thought  of  it.  Go  find  him 
— bring  him  back  to  me!" 

"Bring  him  back?"  howled  the  excited  Sheriff,  his 
eyes  bulging,  his  cheeks  swelling,  his  red  hair  bristling, 
and  his  voice  ringing  in  its  highest  key.  "Bring  him 
back?  You  just  bet  I  will.  That's  why  I'm  sheriff  of 
Final  County." 

Slim  whirled  out  of  the  door  as  if  propelled  by  a 
gigantic  blast.  Echo  fell  fainting  at  her  mother's  feet. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Land  of  Dead  Things. 

Forth  to  the  land  of  dead  things,  through  the  cities 
that  are  forgotten,  fared  Dick  Lane.  Tricked  by  his 
friend,  with  the  woman  he  loved  lost  to  him,  he  wan- 
dered onward. 

Automatically  he  took  up  again  his  quest  for  buried 
treasure.  That  which  in  the  flush  of  youthful  enthu- 
siasm and  roseate  prospects  of  life  and  love  had  seized 
him  as  a  passion  was  now  a  settled  habit.  And  fortu- 
nately so,  for  it  kept  him  from  going  mad.  He  had 
no  thought  of  gain — only  the  achievement  of  a  fixed 
purpose,  a  monomania. 

With  this  impulse  was  conjoined  a  more  volitional 
motive — he  wished  to  revenge  himself  upon  the 
Apaches,  and  chiefly  upon  the  renegade  McKee,  whom 
he  supposed  still  to  be  with  them.  Somehow  he  blamed 
him,  rather  than  Jack  Payson,  as  being  the  chief  cause 
of  his  miseries.  "If  he  had  not  stolen  the  buried  gold, 
I  would  have  returned  in  time,"  he  muttered.  "He  is 


T  h  e   R  o  u  n  d  -  U  p  223 

at  the  bottom  of  all  this.  As  I  walked  away  from  Jack 
in  the  garden,  I  felt  as  if  it  was  McKee  that  was  fol- 
lowing me  with  his  black,  snaky  eyes." 

Accordingly,  Dick  directed  his  way  to  a  region  re- 
puted to  be  both  rich  in  buried  treasure  and  infested  by 
hostile  Indians. 

The  fable  of  the  Quivira,  the  golden  city  marked 
now  by  the  ruins  of  the  Piro  pueblo  of  Tabira,  south 
of  the  salt-deposits  of  the  Manzano,  is  still  potent  in 
Arizona  and  New  Mexico  to  lure  the  treasure-seeker. 
Three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  it  inspired  a  march 
across  the  plains  that  dwarfs  the  famous  march  of  the 
Greeks  to  the  sea.  It  led  to  the  exploration  of  the 
Southwest  and  California  before  the  Anglo-Saxon  set- 
tlers had  penetrated  half  a  hundred  miles  from  the  At- 
lantic coast.  The  cities  are  forgotten  to-day.  The 
tribe  which  gave  it  a  name  proved  to  be  utter  bar- 
barians, eaters  of  raw  meat,  clad  only  in  skins,  with- 
out gold,  knowing  nothing  of  the  arts ;  Teton  nomads, 
wandering  through  Kansas.  Yet  each  decade  since 
witnesses  a  revival  of  a  wonderful  story  of  the  buried 
treasures  of  the  Grand  Quivira. 

The  myth  originated  in  New  Mexico  in  1540.  An- 
tonio de  Mendoza  was  the  viceroy  of  New  Spain. 


TheRound-Up 


Having  practically  conquered  the  New  World,  the  ad- 
venturers who  formed  his  court,  having  no  fighting  to 
do  with  common  enemies,  began  to  hack  each  other. 
Opportunely  for  the  viceroy,  Fra  Marcos  discovered 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona.  Gathering  the  doughty 
swordsmen  together,  Mendoza  turned  them  over  to 
the  brilliant  soldier  and  explorer,  Francisco  Vasquez  de 
Coronado,  with  strict  orders  to  get  them  as  far  away 
from  the  viceroy  as  he  could,  and  then  lose  them. 

Coronado  and  his  band  were  the  first  to  see  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado.  In  the  latter  weeks 
of  1540  they  were  in  the  town  of  Tiguex.  As  they 
were  less  welcome  than  the  modern  tourists,  who  are 
now  preyed  upon  where  these  preyed,  the  natives  sent 
them  on  to  the  pueblo  of  the  Pecos.  Mendoza  had 
sent  Coronado  into  New  Mexico  on  the  strength  of 
the  trimmings  of  the  myth  of  the  "Seven  Cities  of 
Cibola."  The  fabled  cities  of  gold  proved  to  be  peace- 
ful settlements.  Coronado  attempted  to  lose  his  cut- 
throats by  having  them  settle  in  the  country.  A  plains 
Indian,  captive  among  the  Pecos,  changed  his  plans, 
and  led  him  to  undertake  his  wonderful  march.  The 
Pecos  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  guests,  so  they  con- 
cocted a  marvelous  story  of  buried  treasures,  and  made 


The   Round-Up 


the  poor  captive  father  it.  To  the  gold-chasers  the 
captive  was  known  as  "The  Turk,"  his  head  being 
shaven  and  adorned  only  with  a  scalp-lock,  a  custom 
noticeable  because  of  its  variance  from  that  of  the 
long-haired  Pueblos. 

"The  Turk"  told  of  a  tribe  of  plainsmen  who  had  a 
great  store  of  the  yellow  substance.  They  were  called 
the  Quivira.  He  would  lead  them  to  the  ancient  Rocke- 
fellers. Coronado  put  him  at  the  head  of  his  band, 
and  followed  him  eastward  over  the  plains.  For 
months  they  plodded  after  him,  the  Indian  trying  to 
lose  Coronado,  and  that  valiant  warrior  endeavoring 
to  obey  orders  to  "shake"  his  band.  About  the  middle 
of  what  is  now  the  Indian  Territory,  Coronado  began 
to  suspect  that  "The  Turk"  was  selling  him  a  gold 
brick  instead  of  a  bonanza.  Landmarks  began  to  look 
strangely  alike.  "The  Turk,"  as  he  afterward  con- 
fessed, was  leading  them  in  a  circle.  Coronado  sent 
the  most  of  his  band  back  to  the  Mexican  border,  re- 
taining about  thirty  followers.  With  the  help  of 
heated  bayonets  and  sundry  proddings,  he  then  im- 
pressed upon  "The  Turk"  that  it  was  about  time  for 
him  to  find  the  Quiviras,  or  prepare  to  go  to  the  happy 
hunting-grounds  of  his  ancestors.  Aft«r  many  hard* 


226  The   Round- Up 

ships,  "The  Turk"  located  the  tribe  they  were  seeking 
near  the  present  site  of  Kansas  City.  All  that  Coro- 
nado  found  in  the  way  of  metal  was  a  bit  of  native 
copper  worn  by  a  war-chief.  Not  only  was  the  bubble 
burst,  but  the  bursting  was  so  feeble  that  Coronado 
was  disgusted.  He  beheaded  the  guide  with  his  own 
hands  as  a  small  measure  of  vengeance.  With  his 
followers  he  retraced  his  weary  road  to  Tiguex.  The 
lesson  lasted  for  half  a  century,  when  the  myth,  bright- 
er, more  alluring  than  ever,  arose  and  led  others  on  to 
thirsty  deaths  in  the  bad  lands  and  deserts  of  the 
Southwest. 

It  was  to  the  modern  version  that  Lane  had  suc- 
cumbed. From  the  Sweetwater  he  roved  to  the  south 
of  Albuquerque,  where  the  narrow  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande  is  rimmed  on  the  east  by  an  arid  plateau, 
twenty  miles  wide ;  and  this  is,  in  turn,  walled  in  by  a 
long  cordillera.  Through  the  passes,  over  the  summit, 
Lane  climbed,  descending  through  the  pineries,  park- 
like  in  their  grandeur  and  immensity,  to  the  bare, 
brown  plains  which  stretch  eastward  to  the  rising  sun. 
In  the  midst  of  the  desert  lies  a  chain  of  salines,  the 
accursed  lakes  of  Tigua  folk-lore.  Beyond  them  the 
plain  melts  and  rebuilds  itself  in  the  shimmering  sun. 


The   Round-Up  227 

To  the  south  and  southeast  spectral  peaks  tower  to  the 
clouds.  Northward  the  blue  shadows  of  the  Sante 
Fe  fall  upon  the  pine-clad  foot-hills. 

Along  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Manzano  are  the  ruins 
of  the  ancient  pueblos.  Abo  and  Cuarac  are  mounds 
of  fallen  buildings  and  desert-blown  sand.  Solemn 
in  their  grandeur,  they  dominate  the  lonely  landscape 
in  a  land  of  adobe  shacks. 

Thirty  miles  from  Cuarac,  to  the  southeast,  lies 
Tabira,  the  "Grand  Quivira."  Huddled  on  the  project- 
ing slopes  of  the  rounded  ridges,  access  to  it  is  a 
weary,  dreary  march.  The  nearest  water  is  forty 
miles  away.  Toiling  through  sand  ankle-deep,  the 
traveler  plods  across  the  edge  of  the  plains,  through 
troughlike  valleys,  and  up  the  wooded  slope  of  the 
Mesa  de  los  Jumanos.  A  mile  to  the  south  a  whale- 
back  ridge  springs  from  the  valley,  nosing  northward. 
No  sound  breaks  the  stillness  of  the  day. 

From  the  higher  ridges  the  eye  falls  upon  the  pallid 
ghost  of  the  city.  Blotches  of  juniper  relieve  the 
monotony  of  the  brown,  lifeless  grass.  Grays  fade 
into  leaden  hues,  to  be  absorbed  in  the  ashy,  indetermi- 
nate colors  of  the  sun-soaked  plains.  No  fitter  setting 
for  a  superstition  could  be  found.  Once  a  town  of 


228  The   Round-Up 

fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  the  topography  of  the 
ridge  gave  it  an  unusual  shape.  Ruins  of  three  and 
four-story  terrace  houses  face  one  another  across  nar- 
row alleys.  Six  circular  cisterns  yawn  amid  the 
mounds  of  fallen  walls.  At  the  center  of  the  southerly 
blocks  towers  a  gray  quadrangular  wall,  the  last  of  a 
large  building.  At  the  western  terminus  of  the  vil- 
lage, where  the  slope  falls  away  to  the  valley,  is  a  gi- 
gantic ruin.  Its  walls  are  thirty  feet  high  and  six  feet 
thick.  The  roof  has  fallen,  and  the  topmost  layers  of 
the  bluish-gray  limestone  are  ragged  and  time-worn. 

The  building  had  a  frontage  of  two  hundred  and 
two  feet,  and  its  greatest  depth  was  one  hundred  and 
thirty-one  feet.  Flat-faced  prisms,  firmly  laid  in  adobe 
mortar,  are  placed  at  irregular  intervals  in  the  walls. 

The  northern  part  of  the  ruin  is  one  great  cross- 
shaped  room,  thirty-eight  feet  wide  and  one  hundred 
and  thirty-one  feet  long.  A  gate  fifteen  feet  wide  and 
eleven  feet  high  opens  to  the  eastward.  A  mighty 
timber  forms  an  arch  supporting  fifteen  feet  of  solid 
masonry. 

South  of  this  is  a  great  chamber  cut  up  into  smaller 
rooms,  with  long  halls,  with  walls  twenty  feet  ra 
height.  In  one  of  the  rooms  is  a  fireplace,  and  over 


The   Round-Up  229 

the  doorways  are  carved  wood  lintels.  An  entrance 
from  the  south  is  given  through  a  spacious  antecham- 
ber. The  rafters,  hauled  fifteen  miles,  must  have 
weighed  a  ton. 

Here  lies  the  Colchis  of  the  modern  Argonaut.  At 
first  the  Mexican  pried  through  the  debris-choked 
rooms,  or  feebly  tunneled  under  the  walls.  With  the 
coming  of  the  white  races  and  the  drill,  holes  have 
been  sunk  into  the  original  bed-rock.  To  the  simple 
stories  of  the  natives,  fable-bearers  have  added  maps, 
dying  confessions,  and  discovered  ciphers. 

This  ruin,  which  has  caused  so  many  heart-breaks 
and  disappointments,  are  but  the  fragments  of  an  old 
mission  founded  by  Francisco  de  Acevedo  in  1628. 
Tabira  was  to  be  the  central  mission  of  Abo  and  Cu- 
arac.  The  absence  of  water  leads  the  modern  explorer 
to  believe  that  when  the  town  was  deserted  the  spring 
was  killed.  The  gentle  fathers  who  built  the  church 
supervised  the  construction  of  a  water-works.  On  a 
higher  ride  are  three  crudely  made  reservoirs,  with 
ditches  leading  to  the  village.  The  Piros  had  no  ani- 
mals save  a  few  sheep,  and  the  water  supply  was 
needed  only  for  domestic  uses,  as  the  precipitation  fur- 
nished moisture  for  small  crops  of  beans  and  corn. 


TheRouncUUp 


All  these  towns  were  wiped  out  by  the  Apaches,  the 
red  plague  of  the  desert.  First  they  attacked  the  out- 
lying forts  of  the  Salines,  once  supposed  to  be  well- 
watered,  teeming  with  game,  and  fruitful.  Tradition 
again  takes  the  place  of  unrecorded  history,  and  tells 
that  the  sweet  waters  were  turned  to  salt,  in  punish- 
ment of  the  wife  of  one  of  the  dwellers  in  the  city, 
who  proved  faithless.  In  1675  tne  ^ast  vestige  of 
aboriginal  life  was  wiped  out.  For  a  century  the 
Apaches  held  undisputed  control  of  the  country;  then 
the  Mexican  pioneer  crept  in.  His  children  are  now 
scattered  over  the  border.  The  American  ranchman 
and  gold-seeker  followed,  twisting  the  stories  of  a 
Christian  conquest  into  strange  tales  of  the  seekers  of 
buried  treasures. 

Through  this  land  Dick  had  wandered,  finding  his 
search  but  a  rainbow  quest.  But  he  kept  on  by  dull  in- 
ertia, wandering  westward  to  Tularosa,  then  down  to 
Fort  Grant,  and  toward  the  Lava  Beds  of  southwest- 
ern Arizona.  In  all  that  arid  land  there  was  nothing 
so  withered  as  his  soul. 

Jack,  well  mounted,  with  a  pack-mule  carrying  sup- 
plies, had  picked  up  Dick's  trail,  after  it  left  Tularosa, 
from  a  scout  out  of  Fort  Grant. 


TheRound-Up 


Slim  Hoover  headed  for  Fort  Grant  in  his  search 
for  Jack.  Although  the  ranchman  had  only  a  brief 
start  of  him,  Slim  lost  the  track  at  the  river  ford. 
Knowing  Dick  had  gone  into  the  desert,  Jack  headed 
eastward,  while  Slim,  supposing  that  Jack  was  break- 
ing for  the  border  to  escape  into  a  foreign  country, 
turned  southward. 

From  the  scout  who  had  met  Jack  and  Dick,  the 
Sheriff  learned  that  the  two  men  were  headed  for  the 
Lava  Beds,  which  were  occupied  by  hostile  Apaches. 

Detachments  of  the  3d  Cavalry  were  stationed  at 
the  fort,  with  Colonel  Hardie  in  command  of  the  fa- 
mous F  troop,  a  band  of  Indian  fighters  never  equaled. 

In  turn,  they  chased  Cochise,  Victoria,  and  Gero- 
nimo  with  their  Apache  warriors  up  and  down  and 
across  the  Rio  Grande.  Hard  pressed,  each  chieftain, 
in  turn,  would  flee  with  his  band  first  to  the  Lava  Beds, 
and  then  across  the  border  into  Mexico,  where  the 
United  States  soldiers  could  not  follow.  Hardie 
fooled  Victoria,  however.  Texas  rangers  had  met  the 
Apache  chief  in  an  engagement  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rio  Grande.  Only  eight  Americans  returned  from 
the  encounter.  Hardie  took  up  his  pursuit,  and  fol- 
lowed Victoria  across  the  river.  The  Indians  had  re-* 


23*  TheRound-Up 

laxed  their  vigilance,  not  expecting  pursuit  and  despi- 
sing the  Mexican  Rurales.  Troop  F  caught  them  off 
guard  in  the  mountains.  The  fight  was  one  to  ex- 
termination. Victoria  and  his  entire  band  were  slain. 

This  was  the  troop  which  was  awaiting  orders  to 
go  after  the  Apaches. 

Colonel  Hardie  told  Slim  that  the  Indians  were 
bound  to  head  for  the  Lava  Beds.  If  the  men  - for 
whom  he  was  looking  were  in  the  desert,  the  troop 
would  find  them  more  quickly  than  Slim  and  his  posse. 

Slim  waited  at  Fort  Grant  for  orders,  writing  back 
to  Sage-brush,  telling  him  of  his  plans. 

Fort  Grant  followed  the  usual  plan  of  all  frontier 
posts.  A  row  of  officers'  houses  faced  the  parade- 
grounds.  Directly  opposite  were  the  cavalry  barracks 
fort.  On  one  side  of  the  quadrangle  were  the  stables, 
and  the  fourth  line  consisted  of  the  quartermaster's 
buildings  and  the  post-trader's  store.  Small  ranchmen 
had  gathered  near  the  fort  for  protection,  and  be- 
cause of  the  desire  of  the  white  man  for  company.  In 
days  of  peace  garrison  life  was  monotonous.  But  the 
Apaches  needed  constant  watching. 

As  a  soldier,  the  Apache  was  cruel  and  cowardly. 
He  always  fought  dismounted,  never  making  an  attack 


The   Round-Up  *33 

unless  at  his  own  advantage.  As  infantryman  he  was 
unequaled.  Veteran  army  officers  adopted  the  Apache 
tactics,  and  installed  in  the  army  the  plan  of  mounted 
infantry;  soldiers  who  move  on  horseback  but  fight  on 
foot,  detailing  one  man  of  every  four  to  guard  the 
horses.  Methods  similar  to  those  used  by  the  Apaches 
were  put  into  use  by  the  Boers  in  the  South  African 
War. 

Indeed,  the  scouting  of  these  Dutch  farmers  pos- 
sessed many  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Apaches.  So, 
too,  the  Japanese  soldiers  hid  from  the  Russians  with 
the  aid  of  artificial  foliage  in  the  same  way  that  an 
Indian  would  creep  up  on  his  victim  by  tying  a  bush 
to  the  upper  part  of  his  body  and  crawling  toward  him 
on  his  knees  and  elbows. 

Mounted  on  wiry  ponies  inured  to  hardships,  to  pick- 
ing up  a  living  on  the  scanty  herbage  of  the  plains, 
riding  without  saddles,  and  carrying  no  equipment,  the 
Indians  had  little  trouble  in  avoiding  the  soldiers. 
Leaving  the  reservation,  the  Apaches  would  commit 
some  outrage,  and  then,  swinging  on  the  arc  of  a  great 
circle,  would  be  back  to  camp  and  settled  long  before 
the  soldiers  could  overtake  them.  Hampered  by  or- 
ders from  the  War  Department,  which,  in  turn,  was 


234  The   Round-Up 

molested  by  the  sentimental  friends  of  the  Indians,  the 
soldiers  never  succeeded  in  taming  the  Apache  until 
Crook  cut  off  communications  and  thrashed  them  so 
thoroughly  in  these  same  Lava  Beds  that  they  never 
recovered. 

In  Slim's  absence,  Buck  McKee  and  his  gang  had 
taken  possession  of  Final  County.  Rustlers  and  bad 
men  were  coming  in  from  Texas  and  the  Strip.  Slim's 
election  for  another  term  was  by  no  means  certain. 
He  did  not  know  this,  but  if  he  had,  it  would  not  have 
made  any  difference  to  him.  He  was  after  Jack,  and, 
at  any  cost,  would  bring  him  back  to  face  trial.  The 
rogues  of  Final  County  seized  upon  the  flight  of  Jack 
as  a  good  excuse  to  down  Slim.  The  Sheriff  was  more 
eager  to  find  Jack  and  learn  from  him  that  Buck's 
charge  was  false  than  to  take  him  prisoner.  He  knew 
the  accusation  would  not  stand  full  investigation. 

Slowly  the  hours  passed  until  the  order  for  "boots 
and  saddles"  was  sounded,  and  the  troops  trotted  out 
of  the  fort  gate.  Scouts  soon  picked  up  their  trail, 
but  that  was  different  from  finding  the  Indians.  Oft- 
times  the  troopers  would  ride  into  a  hastily  abandoned 
camp  with  the  ashes  still  warm,  but  never  a  sight  of  a 
warrior  could  be  had.  Over  broad  mesas,  down  na»- 


The   Round- Up  235 

row  mountain  trails,  and  up  canons  so  deep  that  the 
sun  never  fully  penetrated  them,  the  soldiers  followed 
the  renegades. 

For  a  day  the  trail  was  lost.  Then  it  was  picked  up 
by  the  print  of  a  pony's  hoof  beside  a  water-hole.  But 
always  the  line  of  flight  led  toward  an  Apache  spring 
in  the  Lava  Beds. 

Slim  and  his  posse  took  their  commands  from  the 
officers  of  the  pursuers.  The  cow-punchers  gave  them 
much  assistance  as  scouts,  knowing  the  country 
through  which  the  Indians  fled.  Keeping  in  touch 
with  the  main  command,  they  rode  ahead  to  protect 
it  from  any  surprise.  The  chief  Indian  scout  got  so 
far  ahead  at  one  time  in  the  chase  that  he  was  not  seen 
for  two  days.  Once,  by  lying  flat  on  his  belly,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  gazing  intently  at  a  moun- 
tainside so  far  ahead  that  the  soldiers  could  scarcely 
discern  it,  he  declared  he  had  seen  the  fugitives  climb 
the  trail.  The  feat  seemed  impossible,  until  the  second 
morning  after  when  the  scout  pointed  out  to  the  colo- 
nel the  pony-tracks  up  the  mountainside.  The  Apache 
scouts  kept  track  of  the  soldiers'  movements,  commu- 
nicating with  the  main  body  with  blanket-signals  and 
smoke  columns. 


236  The   Round- Up 

The  sign-language  of  the  Indians  of  the  Southwest 
is  an  interesting  field  of  study.  On  the  occasion  of  a 
raid  like  the  one  described,  the  warriors  who  were  to 
participate  would  gather  at  one  point  and  construct  a 
mound,  with  as  many  stones  in  it  as  there  were  war- 
riors. Then  they  would  scatter  into  small  bands. 
When  any  band  returned  to  the  mound,  after  losing  a 
fight  and  the  others  were  not  there,  the  leader  would 
take  from  the  mound  as  many  stones  as  he  had  lost 
warriors.  Thus,  the  other  bands,  on  returning,  could 
tell  just  how  many  men  had  fallen. 

In  the  arid  regions  of  the  West,  water-signs  are 
quite  frequent.  They  usually  consist  of  a  grouping 
of  stones,  with  a  longer  triangular  stone  in  the  center, 
its  apex  pointing  in  the  direction  where  the  water  is 
to  be  found.  In  some  cases  the  water  is  so  far  from 
the  trail  that  four  or  five  of  these  signs  must  be  fol- 
lowed up  before  the  water  is  found. 

Only  the  Indian  and  the  mule  can  smell  water.  This 
accomplishment  enabled  the  fleeing  Apaches  to  take 
every  advantage  of  the  pursuing  troopers,  who  must 
travel  from  spring  to  spring  along  known  trails. 

In  the  long,  weary  chase  men  and  horses  began  to 
fail  .rapidly.  Short  rations  quickly  became  slow 


The    Round-Up  237 

starvation  fare.  Hardie  fed  his  men  and  horses  on 
mesquit  bean,  a  plant  heretofore  considered  poison- 
ous. For  water  he  was  forced  to  depend  upon  the 
cactus,  draining  the  fluid  secreted  at  the  heart  of  the 
plant. 

With  faces  blistered  by  the  sun  and  caked  with  al- 
kali, blue  shirts  faded  to  a  purple  tinge,  and  trousers 
and  accouterments  covered  with  a  gray,  powdery  dust, 
the  soldiers  rode  on  silently  and  determinedly.  Hour 
after  hour  the  troop  flung  itself  across  the  plains  and 
into  the  heart  of  the  Lava  Beds,  each  day  cutting  down 
the  Apache  lead. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Atonement. 

False  dawn  in  the  Lava  Beds  of  Arizona.  The  first 
faint  tinge  on  the  eastern  horizon  fades,  and  the  stars 
shine  the  more  brilliantly  in  the  brief,  darkest  hour 
before  the  true  daybreak.  An  icy  wind  sweeps  down 
canons  and  over  mesas,  stinging  the  marrow  of  the 
wayfarer's  bones.  In  the  heavens,  the  innumerable 
stars  burn  steadily  in  crystal  coldness.  Shadows  lie  in 
Stygian  blackness  at  foot  of  rock  and  valley.  Soft 
and  clear  the  lights  of  night  swathe  the  uplands.  An 
awesome  silence  hangs  over  the  desert.  Hushed  and 
humbled  by  the  immensity  of  space,  one  expects  to 
hear  the  rush  of  worlds  through  the  universe.  At 
times  the  bosom  swells  with  a  wild  desire  to  sing  and 
shout  in  the  glory  of  pure  living. 

The  day  comes  quickly;  the  sun,  leaping  over  the 
edge  of  the  world,  floods  mesa  and  canon,  burning, 
withering,  sparing  no  living  thing,  lavishing  reds  and 
purples,  blues  and  violets  upon  canon  walls  and  wind- 
sculptured  rocks.  But  a  remorseful  glare,  blinding, 


TheRound-Up  239 

sight-destroying,  is  thrown  back  from  the  sand  and 
alkali  of  the  desert.  Shriveled  sage-brush  and  shrunk- 
en cactus  bravely  fight  for  life. 

A  narrow  pathway  leads  from  the  mesa  down  the 
canon's  wall,  twisting  and  doubling  on  itself  to  Apache 
Spring.  The  trail  then  moves  southward  between  tow- 
ering cliffs,  a  lane  through  which  is  caught  a  far-dis- 
tant glimpse  of  the  mountains.  Little  whirlwinds  of 
dust  spring  up,  ever  and  anon,  twirling  wildly  across 
the  sandy  wastes.  The  air  suffocates,  like  the  breath 
of  a  furnace.  Ever  the  pitiless  sun  searches  and 
scorches,  as  conscience  sears  and  stings  a  stricken  soul. 

Down  the  narrow  trail,  past  the  spring,  ride  in  sin- 
gle file  the  Apaches,  slowly,  on  tired  horses,  for  the 
pursuing  soldiers  have  given  them  no  halting  space. 
Naked,  save  for  a  breech-clout,  with  a  narrow  red 
band  of  dyed  buckskin  about  his  forehead,  in  which 
sticks  a  feather,  each  rides  silent,  grim,  cruel,  a  hid- 
eous human  reptile,  as  native  to  the  desert  as  is  the 
Gila  monster.  The  horse  is  saddleless.  For  a  bridle, 
the  warrior  uses  a  piece  of  grass  rope  twisted  about 
the  pony's  lower  jaw.  Hi?  Jfegs  droop  laxly  by  the 
horse's  sides.  In  his  right  hand  he  grasps  his  rifle, 
resting  the  butt  on  the  knee.  The  only  sound  to  break 


240  The    Round- Up 

the  stillness  of  the  day  is  the  rattle  of  stones,  slipping 
and  sliding  down  the  pathway  when  loosened  by  the 
hoofs  of  the  ponies. 

Creeping  down  the  canon  wall,  they  cross  the  bot- 
tom, pass  the  spring,  and  disappear  at  a  turn  in  the 
canon  walls.  Nature  and  Indian  meet  and  merge  in 
a  world  of  torture  and  despair. 

Dick  had  fared  badly  in  the  Lava  Beds.  One  spring 
after  the  other  he  found  dry.  His  horse  fell  from  ex- 
haustion and  thirst;  he  ended  the  sufferings  of  his 
pack-mule  with  a  revolver-bullet. 

Dick  staggered  on  afoot  across  the  desert,  hoping 
to  find  water  at  Apache  Spring.  His  blue  shirt  was 
torn  and  faded  to  a  dingy  purple.  Hat  and  shoulders 
were  gray  with  alkali  dust.  Contact  with  the  rocks 
and  cactus  had  rent  trousers  and  leggings.  His  shoes, 
cut  by  sharply  pointed  stones,  and  with  thread  rotted 
by  the  dust  of  the  deserts,  were  worn  to  shreds.  Un- 
shaven and  unshorn,  with  sunken  cheeks  and  eyes 
bright  with  the  delirium  of  thirst,  he  dragged  his 
weary  way  across  the  desert.  He  reached  Apache 
Spring  shortly  after  the  passage  of  the  Indians,  but  his 
craving  for  water  was  so  great  that  he  did  not  observe 
their  trail. 


TheRound-Up  241 

Reeling  toward  the  spring,  he  cast  aside  his  hat  and 
flung  down  his  rifle  in  his  eagerness  to  drink.  Throw- 
ing himself  on  his  face  before  the  hollow  in  the  rock 
from  which  the  water  trickled,  he  first  saw  that  the 
waters  had  dried  up.  With  his  bony  fingers  he  dug 
into  the  dry  sand,  crying  aloud  in  despair.  StifHy  he 
arose  and  blundered  blindly  to  a  rock,  upon  which  he 
sank  in  his  weakness. 

"Another  day  like  this  and  I'll  give  up  the  fight,"  he 
moaned.  "Apache  Spring  dry — the  first  time  in  years ; 
Little  Squaw  Spring,  nothing  but  dust  and  alkali ;  it  is 
twenty  miles  to  Clearwater  Spring — twenty — miles — 
if  I  can  make  it." 

Dick  trembled  with  weakness.  His  swollen  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  his  rnouth.  His  lips  were  cracked 
and  blackened.  Bits  of  foam  flickered  about  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth.  The  glare  blinded  his  eyes,  which 
were  half-closed.  At  times  fever-waves  swept  over 
him ;  again  he  shuddered  with  cold. 

Sounds  of  falling  waters  filled  his  ears.  The  sigh- 
ing of  the  wind  through  the  canon  walls  suggested  the 
trickling  of  fountains.  Rivers  flowed  before  his  eyes 
through  green  meadows,  only  to  fade  into  the  desert 
as  he  gazed. 


24*  The   Round-Up 

"What  a  land !  what  a  land !  It  is  the  abode  of  the 
god  of  thirst !  He  tempts  men  into  his  valley  with  the 
lure  of  gold,  and  saps  the  life-blood  from  their  bodies 
— drop  by  drop.  Drop  by  drop  I  hear  it  falling.  No, 
it  is  water  I  hear !  There  it  is!  How  cool  it  looks !" 

Dick  rose  and  staggered  toward  the  cliff.  In  his  de- 
lirium of  thirst  he  saw  streams  of  water  gush  down 
the  mountainside.  Holding  out  his  arms,  he  cried: 
"Saved,  saved!" 

His  hands  fell  limply  by  his  sides  as  the  illusion 
faded.  He  then  doubled  them  into  fists,  and  shook 
them  at  the  cliff  in  a  last  defiance  of  despair.  "You 
sha'n't  drive  me  mad !" 

He  seized  his  empty  canteen,  pressing  it  to  his  lips. 

"No,  I  drained  that  two  days  ago — or  was  it 
three?"  he  whispered  in  panic,  as  he  threw  it  aside. 

Picking  up  his  gun,  he  falteringly  attempted  the 
ascent.  "I  won't  give  up — I  won't,"  he  shouted  huski- 
ly. "I've  fought  the  desert  before  and  conquered.  I'll 
conquer  again — I'll " 

His  will-power  ebbed  with  his  failing  strength. 
Blindness  fell  upon  him.  Oblivion  swept  over  him. 
He  sank,  dying  of  thirst,  in  the  sands  of  the  desert. 

As  the  buzzard  finds  the  dead,  so  an  Apache  crept 


The    Round- Up  243 

upon  Dick  as  he  lay  prostrate.  But  as  the  Indian 
aimed,  he  heard  footsteps  from  a  draw.  He  saw  a 
man  approaching  the  spring.  Silently  he  fled  behind 
the  rocks. 

It  was  Jack.  He  had  entered  the  Lava  Beds  from 
the  east,  closely  following  the  man  for  whom  he  had 
searched  for  so  many  weary  months.  Others  of  the 
Apaches  had  marked  him  already.  Knowing  he  would 
go  to  the  spring,  they  waited  warily  to  learn  if  he  were 
alone.  The  band  had  scattered  to  surround  him  at  the 
water-hole. 

Jack's  horse  and  burro,  which  he  had  left  at  the 
head  of  the  canon,  were  already  in  the  Indians'  posses- 
sion. With  him  he  carried  his  rifle  and  a  Colt  revol- 
ver. A  canteen  of  water  was  slung  over  his  shoulder. 
The  desert  had  placed  its  stamp  upon  him,  turning  his 
clothes  to  gray.  The  tan  of  his  face  was  deepened. 
Lines  about  the  eyes  and  mouth  showed  how  much 
he  had  suffered  physically  and  mentally  in  his  search 
for  the  man  he  believed  was  his  successful  rival  in 
love.  Reaching  the  spring,  he  looked  about  cautiously 
before  he  laid  down  his  Winchester.  He  tugged  at 
the  butt  of  his  revolver  to  make  certain  that  it  could 
be  pulled  quickly  from  the  holster.  Taking  off  his 


244        .  TheRound-Up 

hat,  he  knelt  to  drink.  He  smiled,  and  confidently 
tapped  his  canteen  when  he  found  the  spring  dry.  He 
was  raising  his  canteen  to  his  lips  when  he  spied  Dick's 
body. 

Jumping  behind  a  rock,  he  pulled  his  revolver,  cov- 
ering the  insensible  man.  It  might  be  a  trap.  He 
scanned  the  trail,  the  cliff,  the  canon.  Hearing  and 
seeing  nothing,  he  slipped  his  revolver  into  his  holster 
and  hurried  to  Dick's  side.  At  first  he  did  not  recog- 
nize him.  The  desert  and  thirst  had  wrought  many 
changes  in  his  friend's  face. 

When  recognition  came,  he  threw  his  arms  about 
the  prostrate  form,  crying:  "Dick,  at  last,  at  last!" 

His  voice  was  broken  with  emotion.  The  search 
had  been  so  long,  so  weary,  and  the  ending  so  sudden. 
He  had  found  Dick,  but  it  looked  as  if  he  came  too 
late. 

Gathering  Dick  up  in  his  arms,  he  raised  him  until 
his  head  rested  on  his  knees.  Forcing  open  his  mouth, 
he  poured  a  little  water  down  his  throat. 

Then  with  a  moistened  handkerchief  he  wetted  tem- 
ples and  wrists.  Slowly  Dick  struggled  back  to  life. 

"Water — water — it's  water!"  he  gasped,  struggling 
for  more  of  the  precious  fluid. 


The   Round-Up  245 

"Easy,"  cautioned  Jack.  "Only  a  little  now — more 
when  you're  stronger." 

"Who  is  it?"  cried  Dick.  Not  waiting  for  Jack  to 
enlighten  him,  he  continued :  "No  matter — you  came 
in  time.  I  couldn't  have  held  out  any  longer.  All  the 
springs  are  dry — I  figured  on  reaching  Clearwater." 

Jack  helped  Dick  to  his  feet.  Taking  his  stricken 
friend's  right  arm,  he  drew  it  across  his  shoulders. 
With  his  left  arm  about  his  waist,  Jack  led  him  to  a 
seat  upon  a  convenient  rock. 

"I  came  by  Clearwater  yesterday,"  explained  Jack. 
"It  is  nothing  but  mud  and  alkali." 

"My  horse  dropped  three  days  ago.  I  had  to  shoot 

the  pack-mule.  I "  Dick  opened  his  eyes  under 

the  ministrations  of  Jack.  Gazing  upward  into  his 
face,  he  shouted  joyfully: 

"Why— it's  Jack— Jack  Payson." 

"Didn't  you  know  me,  Dick?"  asked  Jack  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Not  at  first — my  eyes  went  to  the  bad  out  yonder 
in  the  glare." 

The  effort  had  been  too  much  for  Dick.  He  sank 
weakly  over  Jack's  knees.  Jack  turned  him  partly  on 
his  back,  and  let  more  water  trickle  down  his  throat. 


246  The   Round-Up 

Dick  clutched  madly  at  the  canteen,  but  Jack  drew  it 
back  out  of  his  reach.  With  his  handkerchief  he 
moistened  lips  and  neck.  When  Dick's  strength  re- 
turned, Jack  helped  him  to  sit  up. 

"I've  been  hunting  you  for  months,"  he  told  him. 

"Hunting  for  me?"  echoed  Dick. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jack.  "I  traced  you  through  the 
Lost  Cities,  then  to  Cooney,  then  up  in  the  Tularosas. 
At  Fort  Grant  they  put  me  on  the  right  trail." 

As  the  clouds  break,  revealing  the  blue  of  the  heav- 
ens, so  Dick's  memory  came  back  to  him.  He  shrank 
from  the  man  at  his  side. 

"Well  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  stared  at  his  betrayer. 

Jack  gazed  fixedly  ahead.  He  dared  not  look  into 
the  face  of  him  he  had  wronged  so  bitterly. 

"She  wants  you,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  void  of  all 
emotion. 

"Who  wants  me?"  asked  Dick,  after  a  pause. 

"Echo." 

"Your  wife?"  gritted  Dick.  He  fingered  his  gun  as 
he  spoke. 

Huskily  Jack  replied:     "Yes." 

Bitter  thoughts  filled  the  mind  of  one;  the  other 
had  schooled  himself  to  make  atonement.  For  the 


The   Round- Up  247 

wrong  he  had  done,  Jack  was  ready  to  offer  his  life. 
He  had  endured  the  full  measure  of  his  sufferings. 
The  hour  of  his  delivery  was  at  hand.  Hard  as  it  was 
to  die  in  the  midglory  of  manhood,  it  was  easier  to 
end  it  all  here  and  now,  than  to  live  unloved  by  Echo, 
hated  by  Dick,  despised  by  himself. 

"She  sent  me  to  find  you.  'Bring  him  back  to  me.' 
That's  what  she  said,"  Jack  cried,  in  his  agony. 

"Your  wife — she  said  that?"  faltered  Dick. 

Fiercely  in  his  torture  Jack  answered:  "Yes — my 
wife — my  wife  said  it.  'Bring  him  back  to  me.' ' 

"Back?"  Dick  paused.  "Back  to  what?"  he  asked 
himself.  "She's  your  wife,  isn't  she?"  he  demanded. 

"That's  what  the  law  says,"  answered  Jack. 

With  the  thought  of  the  evening  in  the  garden  when 
he  heard  Jack  and  Echo  pronounced  man  and  wife 
surging  over  him,  Dick  murmured :  "What  God  hath 
joined  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder." 

"That's  what  the  Book  says,"  answered  Jack.  "But 
when  hands  alone  are  joined  and  hearts  are  asunder,  it 
can't  go  on  record  as  the  work  of  God." 

Dick  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands.  "I  don't  under- 
stand." 

Stubbornly  Jack  pursued  his  message  to  Dick.    "She 


248  The    Round-Up 

doesn't  love  me.  I  thought  I  had  won  her,  but  she 
married  me  with  your  image  in  her  heart.  She  mar- 
ried me,  yet  all  the  while  you  were  the  man  she  loved 
— you — you — and  in  the  end  I  found  it  out." 

Jack's  voice  sank  almost  into  a  whisper  as  he  fin- 
ished his  revelation  to  Dick,  who  raised  his  head  and 
cried :  "And  yet  she  broke  her  faith  with  me " 

Jack  arose  in  his  misery.  His  task  was  harder  than 
he  expected.  Dick  was  forcing  him  to  tell  all  with- 
out concealing  even  the  smallest  trifle  of  his  shame. 

"She  thought — you  were  dead.  I  never  told  her 
otherwise.  I  lied  to  her — I  lied  to  her." 

"She  never  knew?"  asked  Dick  joyfully.  "The  let- 
ter  " 

"I  never  gave  it  to  her,"  answered  Jack  simply. 

Dick  leaped  to  his  feet,  pulling  his  revolver  from  his 
holster.  "And  I  thought  her  false  to  her  trust !"  He 
aimed  his  gun  at  Payson's  heart.  "I  ought  to  kill  you 
for  this!" 

Jack  spread  out  his  arms  and  calmly  replied :  "I'm 
ready." 

Dick  dropped  his  gun  and  slipped  it  into  the  holster 
with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "But  it's  too  late  now,  too 
late!" 


The   Round-Up  249 

In  his  eagerness  to  tell  Dick  the  way  he  had  solved 
the  problem,  Jack  spoke  nervously  and  quickly.  "No, 
it  isn't  too  late.  There's  one  way  out  of  this — one 
way  in  which  I  can  atone  for  the  wrong  I've  done  you 
both,  and  I  stand  ready  to  make  that  atonement.  It 
is  your  right  to  kill  me,  but  it  is  better  that  you  go 
back  to  her  without  my  blood  on  your  hands " 

"Go — back — to  her  ?"  questioned  Dick,  as  the  mean- 
ing of  the  phrase  slowly  dawned  upon  him. 

"Yes,"  said  Jack,  holding  out  his  hands.  "Go 
back  with  clean  hands  to  Echo  Allen.  It  is  you  she 
loves.  There's  my  horse  up  yonder.  Beyond,  there's 
the  pack-mule  loaded  with  water  and  grub.  Plenty 
of  water.  We'll  just  change  places,  that's  all.  You 
take  them  and  go  back  to  her  and  I'll  stay  here." 

Dick   walked   toward  the   spring,   but,   a  spell   of . 
weakness  came  over  him  and  he  almost  sank  to  the 
ground.    Jack  caught  him  and  held  him  up. 

"It  would  be  justice,"  muttered  Dick,  as  if  apolo- 
gizing for  his  acceptance  of  Jack's  renunciation. 

Leaning  over  his  shoulder,  Jack  said :  "Sure,  that's 
it,  justice.  Just  tell  her  I  tried  to  work  it  out  ac- 
cording to  my  lights — ask  her  to— forgive,  to  forgive, 
that's  all" 


250  TheRound-Up 

Jack  took  off  his  canteen  and  threw  the  strap  about 
Dick's  neck.  As  Lane  weakly  staggered  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  canon,  where  the  horse  had  been  staked 
out,  Jack  halted  him  with  a  request: 

"There's  another  thing;  I  left  home  under  a  cloud. 
Buck  McKee  charged  me  with  holding  up  and  killing 
'Ole  Man'  Terrill  for  three  thousand  dollars.  Tell 
Slim  Hoover  how  you  paid  me  just  that  sum  of 
money." 

"I  will,  and  I'll  fix  the  murder  where  it  belongs, 
and  then  fix  the  real  murderer." 

Jack  stepped  to  Lane's  side  and,  holding  out  his 
hand,  said :  "Thank  you.  I  don't  allow  you  can  for- 
give me?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  could,"  coldly  answered  Dick. 

"You'd  better  be  going." 

Again  Dick  started  for  the  horse,  but  a  new  thought 
came  to  him.  Pausing,  he  said.  "She  can't  marry 
again  until " 

"Well?"  asked  Jack;  his  voice  was  full  of  sinister 
meaning,  and  he  fingered  his  gun  as  he  spoke. 

Dick  realized  at  once  that  Jack's  plan  was  to  end 
his  life  in  the  desert  with  a  revolver-shot. 

"You  mean  to "  he  shuddered. 


The   Round-Up  251 

Jack  drew  his  gun.  "Do  you  want  me  to  do  it  here 
and  now?"  he  cried. 

Staggering-  over  to  him  the  weakened  man  grappled 
with  his  old  friend,  trying  to  disarm  him.  "No,  no, 
you  sha'n't!"  he  shouted,  as  Jack  shook  him  free. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Jack.  "Go.  There's  my 
horse — he's  yours — go!  When  you  get  to  the  head 
of  the  canon,  you'll  hear  and  know — know  that  she 
is  free  and  I  have  made  atonement." 

"Why  should  I  hesitate?"  argued  Dick  with  him- 
self. "I  wanted  to  die.  I  came  here  in  the  desert 
to  make  an  end  of  it  all,  but  when  I  met  death  face 
to  face,  the  old  spirit  of  battle  came  over  me,  and  I 
fought  it  back,  step  by  step.  Now — now  you  come 
and  offer  me  more  than  life — you  offer  to  restore  to 
me  all  that  made  life  dear,  all  that  you  have  stolen 
from  me  by  treachery  and  fraud.  Why  should  I  hesi- 
tate ?  She  is  mine,  mine  in  heart,  mine  by  all  the  ties 
of  love — mine  by  all  its  vows — I  will  go  back,  I  will 
take  your  place  and  leave  you  here — here  in  this  land 
of  dead  things,  to  make  your  peace  with  God!" 

Beads  of  sweat  broke  out  on  Jack's  forehead  as 
he  listened.  He  bit  his  lips  until  they  bled.  Clench- 
ing his  fingers  until  the  nails  sank  into  the  palms  of 


252  TheRound-Up 

his  hands,  he  cried  warningly  in  his  agony:  "I 
wouldn't  say  no  more,  if  I  was  you.  Go — for  God's 
sake,  go!" 

Dick  slowly  moved  toward  the  mouth  of  the  canon, 
still  hesitating. 

From  the  hillside  a  rifle-shot  rang  out.  The  ball 
struck  Dick  in  the  leg.  He  fell,  and  lay  motionless. 

Pulling  his  revolver,  Jack  stooped  and  ran  under  the 
overhanging  ledge,  peering  about  to  see  where  the 
shot  had  come  from.  He  raised  his  gun  to  fire,  when 
a  volley  of  rifle-shots  rang  through  the  canon,  the  bul- 
lets kicking  up  little  spurts  of  dust  about  him  and 
chipping  edges  off  the  rocks.  Jack  dropped  on  his 
knees  and  crept  to  his  rifle,  clipping  his  revolver  back 
into  his  holster. 

Crouching  behind  a  rock  with  his  rifle  to  his  shoul- 
der, he  waited  for  the  attackers  to  show  themselves. 

Experience  on  the  plains  taught  them  that  the  fight 
would  be  a  slow  one,  unless  the  Apaches  sought  only 
to  divert  attention  for  the  time  being  to  cover  their 
flight  southward.  After  the  one  shot,  which  struck 
Dick,  and  the  volley  directed  at  Jack,  not  a  rifle  had 
been  fired.  Peering  over  the  boulder,  Jack  could  see 
nothing. 


The   Round -Up  253 

The  Lava  Beds  danced  before  his  eyes  in  the  swelter 
of  the  glaring  sunshine.  Far  off  the  snow-capped 
mountains  mockingly  reared  their  peaks  into  the  in- 
tense blue  of  the  heavens.  Since  the  attackers  were 
covered  with  alkali-dust  from  the  long  ride,  a  color 
which  would  merge  into  the  desert  floor  when  a  man 
lay  prone,  detection  of  any  movement  was  doubly  diffi- 
cult. Behind  any  rock  and  in  any  clump  of  sage- 
brush might  lie  an  assailant. 

Dick  had  fallen  near  the  spring.  He  struggled 
back  to  consciousness,  to  find  his  left  leg  numb  and 
useless.  When  the  ball  struck  him  he  felt  only  a 
sharp  pinch.  His  fainting  was  caused  by  a  shock  to 
his  weakened  body,  but  not  from  fear  or  pain.  With 
the  return  to  his  senses  came  a  horrible,  burning  thirst, 
and  a  horrible  sinking  sensation  in  the  pit  of  his 
stomach.  He  lay  breathing  heavily  until  he  got  a  grip 
on  himself.  Then  he  tore  the  bandanna  handkerchief 
from  his  neck  and  bound  up  the  wound,  winding  the 
bandage  as  tightly  as  his  strength  permitted  to  check 
the  blood-flow. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Jack,  over  his  shoulder. 

"Indians — the  Taches  are  out.  I'm  hit,"  gasped 
Dick.  He  crawled  painfully  and  slowly  to  Jack's  side, 


254  TheRound-Up 

dragging  his  leg  after  him.  He  pulled  with  him  his 
rifle,  which  he  picked  up  as  he  passed  from  the  spot 
where  it  had  fallen  in  his  first  wild  rush  for  water. 

"The  soldiers  told  me  at  Fort  Grant  about  the 
Taches  being  out,"  Jack  whispered  hoarsely.  "I 
thought  they'd  crossed  the  border  into  Mexico." 

Seeing  a  spasm  of  pain  sweep  over  Dick's  face,  he 
asked:  "Are  you  hurt  bad?" 

"I  don't  know.     My  left  leg  is  numb." 

Both  men  spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  fearing 
to  betray  their  positions  by  the  sound  of  their  voices. 
Dick  lay  on  his  back  gathering  strength  to  ward  off 
with  rifle  and  revolver  the  rush  which  would  come 
sooner  or  later. 

Jack  caught  the  sound  of  a  falling  stone.  Peering 
cautiously  over  the  rock,  he  saw  an  Indian  creeping 
up  a  draw  toward  them.  Throwing  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder,  he  took  quick  aim  and  fired.  The  Apache 
jumped  to  his  feet,  ran  a  few  steps  forward,  and  fell 
sprawling.  A  convulsive  shudder  shook  him,  and  he 
lay  still. 

"I  got  him!"  cried  Jack  exultantly,  as  he  saw  the 
result  of  the  shot. 

But  the  exposure  of  his  head  and  shoulders  above 


The   Round- Up  255 

their  barricade  had  drawn  forth  more  shots  from 
other  members  of  the  band. 

The  bullets  struck  near  the  two  men,  showing  that 
the  Apaches  had  the  range. 

Dick's  wound  was  bleeding  freely,  but  the  shock 
of  the  blow  had  passed  away,  and  his  strength  re- 
turned. Drawing  his  revolver,  he  crept  closer  to 
Jack,  crying:  "I  can  shoot  some." 

"I  reckon  you  haven't  more  than  a  flesh-wound," 
encouraged  Jack.  "Can  you  crawl  to  the  horse  ?" 

"I  think  I  can,"  answered  Dick". 

"Then  go.  Take  the  trail  home.  I'll  keep  these 
fellows  busy  while  you  get  away." 

The  Apaches  were  showing  themselves  more  as 
they  darted  from  rock  to  rock,  drawing  closer  to  the 
entrapped  men  down  the  boulder-strewn  draws  or  ra- 
vines leading  into  the  canon. 

An  Apache  had  crawled  to  the  head  of  a  draw,  and 
crossed  the  butte  into  a  second  ravine,  which  led  to 
the  trail  down  the  cliffside.  On  his  belly  he  had 
wormed  his  way  up  the  pathway  until  he  overlooked 
the  rear  of  the  defensive  position  the  two  men  occu- 
pied. Screened  by  a  hedge  he  awaited  a  favorable 
shot. 


TheRound-Up 


Jack  again  cautiously  raised  his  head  and  peered 
over  the  barricade.  Still  not  an  enemy  was  in  sight. 
As  the  Apaches  had  ceased  to  fire,  he  knew  they  were 
gathering  for  another  simultaneous  rush.  The  pur- 
pose of  these  dashes  was  twofold  :  While  one  or  two 
men  might  be  killed  in  the  advance,  the  whole  party 
was  nearer  the  object  of  attack  at  the  finish,  and  the 
defenders  were  demoralized  by  the  hopelessness  of  a!! 
resistance.  For  the  silent  rising  of  naked,  paint- 
daubed  Indians  from  out  of  the  ground,  the  quick 
closing  in  of  the  cordon,  similar  to  the  turn  of  lariat 
around  a  snubbing-post  when  a  pony  weakens  for  a 
moment,  is  calculated  to  shake  the  nerves  of  the 
strongest  of  Indian-fighters. 

In  the  breathing-space  which  the  Apaches  had  given 
them  Jack,  who  had  resigned  himself  to  die,  took  a  new 
grip  on  life.  His  dream  of  atonement  had  worked 
out  better  than  he  had  planned.  Selling  his  life  by 
bravely  fighting  in  a  good  cause  was  far,  far  better 
than  ending  it  by  his  own  hand.  It  was  a  man's 
death.  Fate  had  befriended  him  in  the  end. 

Reaching  his  hand  out  to  Dick,  he  touched  his 
shoulder,  rousing  him  from  a  stupor  into  which  he 
was  sinking. 


The   Round-Up  *57 

"Quick,  Dick,  they're  coming  closer.  Go,"  he  or- 
dered. "Don't  be  a  fool,  only  one  of  us  can  escape. 
One  of  us  alone.  Let  it  be  you,  Dick,  go  back  to  her, 
back  to  home  and  happiness." 

Dick  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  offering  a  fair 
target  for  the  Indian  hidden  behind  the  ledge  on  the 
cliff  trail.  The  Apache  took  full  advantage  and  fired, 
but  missed.  Dick  returned  the  shot  with  his  revolver 
before  the  warrior  could  sink  back  behind  the  rock. 
The  Apache  lurched  forward  in  his  death-blindness, 
with  the  last  convulsive  obedience  of  the  muscles  ere 
the  will  flees.  Then  his  legs  crumpled  up  beneath  him 
and  he  toppled  forward  off  the  ledge.  His  breech- 
clout  caught  in  a  rocky  projection,  causing  the  body  to 
hang  headlong  against  the  side  of  the  cliff.  His  rifle 
fell  from  his  nerveless  hands,  clattering  and  breaking 
on  the  rocks  below. 

The  sight  served  as  a  tonic  to  Dick.  His  success 
braced  his  strength  and  will.  The  old  battle-spirit 
surged  over  him.  Only  with  an  effort  did  he  suppress 
the  desire  to  laugh  and  shout.  He  would  have  left 
Jack  to  fight  it  out  alone  but  a  minute  before,  but  the 
one  shot  drove  all  such  ideas  from  his  mind. 

"No,  I'll  be  damned  if  I'll  go!"  he  shouted.     "I'll 


258  The   Round-Up 

stay  and  fight  with  you,"  and,  seizing  his  rifle,  he 
joined  Jack  in  stopping  a  rush  of  the  Apaches. 

"We  stopped  them  that  time,"  Jack  cried,  with  sat- 
isfaction. In  the  lull  he  again  urged  his  comrade  to 
escape  to  the  horse  and  return  to  Echo.  "Take  the 
horse,"  he  insisted.  "Go  while  there's  a  chance." 

"No,"  shouted  Dick  determinedly.  It  was  as  much 
his  fight  as  Jack's  now. 

Jack  thought  more  for  Echo  in  that  moment  'than 
he  did  for  himself.  Here  was  the  man  she  loved. 
He  must  go  back  to  her.  The  woman's  happiness 
depended  upon  it.  But  Jack  realized  that  while  he 
was  alive,  Dick  would  stay.  One  supreme  sacrifice 
was  necessary. 

"Go,"  he  cried,  "or  I'll  stand  up  and  let  'em  get 
me." 

"No,  we  can  hold  them  off,"  begged  Dick,  firing-  as 
he  spoke. 

Jack's  hour  had  struck.  It  was  all  so  supremely 
simple.  There  were  no  waving  flags,  no  cheering 
comrades.  He  was  only  one  of  two  men  in  the  des- 
ert, dirty,  grimy,  and  sweaty;  his  mouth  dry  and 
parched,  his  eyes  stinging  from  powder-fumes,  and 
his  hands  numb  from  the  effects  of  rapid  firing.  His 


The    Round-Up  259 

mind  worked  automatically;  he  seemed  to  be  only  an 
onlooker.  The  man  who  first  fought  off  the  Apaches 
and  who  was  now  to  offer  himself  as  a  sacrifice  was 
only  one  of  two  Jack  Paysons,  a  replica  of  his  con- 
scious self. 

Swiftly  Jack  Payson  arose  and  faced  the  Indians. 

"Good-bye !"  he  cried  to  his  comrade. 

Dick  struggled  to  his  feet  and  threw  himself  on 
Jack  to  force  him  down  behind  the  barricade.  For  a 
moment  both  men  were  in  full  view  of  the  Apaches. 
A  volley  crashed  up  and  across  the  canon.  Both  men 
fell  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  then  lay  still. 

The  Indians  awaited  the  result  of  the  shots.  The 
strange  actions  of  the  men  might  be  only  a  ruse.  Si- 
lence would  mean  they  were  victorious. 

Both  Jack  and  Dick  had  been  struck.  Jack  was 
the  first  to  recover.  Reviving,  he  struggled  out  of  the 
clasp  of  his  unconscious  comrade.  "He's  hit  bad,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "and  so  am  I.  I'll  fight  it  out  to  the 
last,  and  if  they  charge  they  won't  get  us  alive." 

Dick  groaned  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"I'm  hit  hard,"  he  whispered,  "you'd  better  go." 

Jack  was  on  his  hands  and  knees  crawling  toward 
his  rifle  when  his  comrade  spoke. 


260  The   Round- Up 

"Listen,"  he  replied.  "We're  both  fixed  to  stay, 
now,  so  lie  close.  I'll  hold  'em  off  as  long  as  I  can, 
but  if  they  rush,  save  one  shot  for  yourself — you  un- 
derstand ?" 

"Yes,  not  alive!"  answered  Dick  weakly,  his  voice 
thin  and  his  face  ashen  white  with  pain. 

Jack  reached  the  boulder,  and  with  an  effort  raised 
himself  and  peered  over  the  edge. 

"They're  getting  ready.  Will  you  take  my  hand 
now  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  held  it  out  to  Dick. 

"I  sure  will,"  his  wounded  comrade  cried,  grasping 
it  with  all  the  strength  he  possessed. 

Jack  smiled  in  his  happiness.  He  felt  he  had  made 
his  peace  with  all  men  and  at  last  was  ready  to  meet 
death  with  a  clear  conscience. 

"It  looks  like  the  end.     But  we'll  fight  for  it." 

The  shrill  war-whoops  of  the  Indians,  the  first  sound 
they  had  made  in  the  fight,  showed  they  felt  confident 
of  overcoming  the  men  in  the  next  rush. 

Jack  and  Dick  had  abandoned  the  rifles  and  were 
now  fighting  the  Indians  off  with  their  revolvers  as 
they  closed  in  on  them. 

Hardie  had  halted  the  night  before  at  Clearwater 
Spring.  Finding  it  but  mud  and  alkali,  he  had  merely 


TheRound-Up  a6i 

rested  his  men  and  horses  for  a  few  hours,  and  then 
pushed  on  for  Apache  Spring,  where  he  hoped  to  strike 
water.  The  troop  rode  through  the  early  morning 
hours,  full  of  grit,  and  keen  to  overtake  the  Apaches, 
traces  of  whose  flight  were  becoming  more  evident 
every  mile.  All  weariness  had  vanished.  Even  the 
horses  felt  there  was  something  in  the  air  and  an- 
swered the  bugle-call  with  fresh  vigor  and  go. 

A  scout  first  heard  the  firing  at  the  spring.  He  did 
not  wait  to  investigate,  knowing  he  could  do  nothing 
alone.  The  volleys,  the  difference  in  the  reports  of 
the  rifles,  proved  to  him  that  one  party  was  firing 
Springfields  and  the  other  Winchesters.  He  knew 
that  the  Apaches  were  being  held  off.  Galloping  back 
to  the  troop,  he  reported  the  fight  to  its  commander. 

The  bugles  sounded.  The  horses  were  forced  into 
a  gallop.  With  clashing  accouterments  and  jingling 
spurs  and  bits,  they  dashed  across  the  mesa  to  the 
head  of  the  trail.  Here  they  met  Slim  Hoover  and 
his  posse  coming  from  an  opposite  direction. 

The  firing  in  the  canon  was  more  intermittent  now. 
Dick  and  Jack  were  saving  their  revolver-shots.  The 
Indians  were  closing  in  for  the  last  rush. 

Hardie  dismounted  his  men  and  threw  his  troop 


262  The   Round-Up 

as  groups  of  skirmishers  down  the  draws  leading  into 
one  side  of  the  canon.  Slim  and  his  posse  were  on 
the  left  flank,  armed  with  revolvers.  Hardie,  with  a 
section,  dashed  down  the  trail. 

They  came  upon  the  Apaches  with  the  rush  of  a 
mountain  torrent,  striking  them  in  the  front  and  on 
the  flank.  The  cavalrymen  fired  at  will,  each  plun- 
ging from  one  cover  to  another  as  he  picked  out  his 
man. 

The  Indians,  for  a  few  moments,  replied  shot  for 
shot.  Their  stand  was  a  short  one,  however,  and  they 
began  to  fall  back. 

Slim  entered  the  canon  at  the  head  of  the  scouts, 
driving  the  Apaches  before  him.  Both  Jack  and  Dick 
had  fallen.  Across  the  bodies  a  wave  of  the  battle 
flowed. 

Once  the  Indians  rallied,  but  so  sudden  was  the 
attack,  so  irresistible  the  forward  dash  of  the  cav- 
alrymen, that  they  became  discouraged,  and  broke 
and  fled  toward  their  horses,  with  the  soldiers  in  pur- 
suit. 

Slim  hurried  to  Dick's  side,  seeing  he  was  the  worst 
hurt.  As  he  knelt  beside  him,  the  dying  man  opened 
his  eyes  and  smiled.  Leaning  over  him,  Slim  heard 


The   Round-Up  263 

him  gently  whisper:  "Tell  her  I  know  she  was  true, 
and  not  to  mind." 

With  a  deep  sigh,  his  eyelids  fluttereds  and  all  was 
still. 

The  scouts  had  taken  charge  of  Jack,  who  was  un- 
conscious, and  bleeding  freely. 

From  the  spring  the  righting  had  drifted  southward. 
Few  of  the  Indians  reached  the  horses,  and  fewer  still 
got  away.  Scattering  shots  showed  the  hunt  for 
those  who  fled  on  foot  was  still  on. 

Then  soft  and  mellow  over  canon  and  mesa  and 
btttte  floated  the  bugle-call,  recalling  the  cavalrymen 
to  the  guidon.  Back  they  came,  cheering  and  tu- 
multuous, only  to  be  silenced  by  the  presence  of  their 
dead. 

They  buried  Dick's  body  near  the  spring,  and  carved 
his  name  with  a  cavalry  saber  on  a  boulder  near-by. 

At  dawn  the  next  day  they  began  the  long  march 
back  to  Front  Grant. 

Slim  took  charge  of  Jack,  nursing  him  back  to  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Round-up. 

Much  has  been  written  of  the  passing-  of  the  cow- 
boy. With  the  fenced  range,  winter  feeding,  and 
short  drives  his  occupation  once  appeared  to  be  gone. 
But  the  war  of  the  sheep  and  cattlemen  in  the  West- 
ern States  has  recently  caused  the  government  to 
compel  the  cattlemen  to  remove  the  fences  and  permit 
the  herds  of  sheep  and  cattle  to  range  over  public 
lands,  and  this  means  a  return  of  the  regime  of  the 
cowboy,  with  its  old  institutions. 

Chief  among  these  is  the  round-up. 

A  sheepman  can  shear  wherever  he  happens  to  be. 
He  can  entrain  at  the  nearest  shipping-point  to  his 
grazing-bed.  But  a  herd  of  cattle  will  range  four 
hundred  miles  in  a  season,  so  the  cattlemen  will  be 
forced  to  revive  the  round-up,  and  make  the  long 
drives  either  back  to  the  home  ranch,  or  to  the  rail- 
road. More  cowboys  will  have  to  be  employed.  All 
the  free  life  of  the  open  will  return.  At  work  the 
cow-puncher  is  not  of  the  drinking,  carousing,  fight- 


The   Round-Up 


hunting  type;  nor  again  is  he  of  the  daring  romantic 
school.  He  is  a  Western  man  of  the  plains.  True, 
after  loading  up  his  cattle  and  getting  "paid  off,"  he 
may  spend  his  vacation  with  less  dignity  and  quiet 
than  a  bank  clerk.  But  after  a  year  of  hard  work 
with  coarse  fare  he  must  have  some  relaxation.  He 
takes  "what  he  finds.  The  cattle-towns  cater  to  his 
worst  passions.  He  is  as  noisy  in  his  spending1  as  a 
college  boy,  and,  on  the  average,  just  as  good  na- 
tured  and  eager  to  have  a  good  time. 

Only  a  man  of  tried  and  proved  courage  can  hold 
his  job.  Skill  and  daring  are  needed  to  handle  the 
half  -wild  beasts  of  the  herds.  The  steer  respects  no 
one  on  foot,  but  has  a  wholesome  fear  for  a  mounted 
man.  Taken  separately,  neither  man  nor  horse  has 
the  smallest  chance  with  range  cattle,  but  the  combi- 
nation inspires  the  fear  noticeable  among  the  Apaches 
for  cavalryman  as  compared  with  their  contempt  for 
foot-soldiers. 

The  longhorned  steer  will  fight  with  the  nerociotts- 
ness  of  a  tiger.  A  maddened  cow  will  attack  even  a 
man  on  horseback.  The  most  desperate  battles  of  the 
range  are  with  cows  who  have  lost  their  calves. 

The  cow-puncher  first  comes  in  contact  with  his 


266  The    Round-Up 

cattle  at  the  round-up.  The  outfit  consists  of  a  fore- 
man with  eight  men  to  each  thousand  head  as  drivers. 
Each  man  has  from  six  to  ten  mounts.  The  broncos 
are  only  half-broken.  But  they  follow  a  steer  like 
a  terrier  does  a  ball.  They  delight  in  the  game  as 
much  as  a  polo-pony. 

A  chuck-wagon  accompanies  each  outfit.  This  is 
usually  of  the  United  States  Army  type,  solidly  built, 
and  hauled  by  four  mules.  The  cook  of  the  outfit  is 
the  driver.  He  has  a  helper,  a  tenderfoot,  or  a  boy 
learning  the  trade.  In  the  field  only  the  bravest  dares 
defy  the  cook.  His  word  on  the  camp  is  law.  All 
the  men  are  subject  to  his  call.  In  the  wagon  are 
carried  a  tent,  the  men's  bedding,  sleeping-bags,  and 
stores  consisting  of  pork,  navy  beans,  flour,  potatoes, 
canned  tomatoes,  and  canned  peaches.  At  the  rear  end 
of  the  wagon  bed  is  a  built-up  cupboard,  the  door  of 
which  can  be  lowered  with  straps  to  make  a  table. 
Dishes,  the  lighter  food  supplies,  and  a  small  medicine- 
chest  are  stored  there.  A  water-barrel  is  strapped  to 
the  side  of  the  wagon.  Enough  fire-wood  for  emer- 
gency use  is  packed  under  the  driver's  seat.  No  wagon 
is  complete  without  a  bucket  hanging  from  the  axle. 

The  spare  horses  are  driven  with  the  herd,  the  men 


TheRound-Up 


taking  turns  at  the  task.  At  daybreak  each  morning 
the  cowboys  scatter  from  the  mess-wagon,  riding  up 
and  down  the  draws  and  over  the  hills,  driving  in  the 
cattle  for  branding  and  the  "cutting  out,"  or  separa- 
ting from  the  herd,  of  marketable  beeves.  These  are 
known  as  "dogies,"  "sea-lions,"  and  "longhorns." 
The  size  as  well  as  the  nickname  depends  upon  the  lo- 
cation of  the  range.  The  cattle  of  the  Sweetwater 
valley  were  smaller  than  the  northern  stock.  From 
four  to  six  thousand  were  driven  at  a  time.  The 
calves  are  lassoed  and  thrown,  and  the  owner's  brand 
is  burned  into  the  hide,  leaving  a  scar  which,  if  the 
work  is  well  done,  will  last  until  the  beef  is  sold. 
Branding  is  hard  work.  The  dust,  the  odor  of  burn- 
ing flesh,  the  heat  of  the  corral  fire  for  heating  the 
irons,  the  bellowing  of  frightened  mother  cows,  and 
the  bleating  of  the  calves,  the  struggles  with  the  vic- 
tims, these  try  men's  strength  and  tempers  severely. 
Once  branded,  the  calf  is  turned  loose  and  not  touched 
again  until  it  is  four  years  old  and  ready  for  the  mar- 
ket. Stray  unbranded  cattk  over  a  year  old  are 
known  as  "mavericks,"  and  become  the  property  of 
any  person  branding  them. 

Having  cut  out  the   stock   for  the  drive,   a   road 


268  The    Round-Up 

mark,  a  supplementary  brand  for  identification,  is 
burned  into  the  hides.  The  long  march  then  begins. 

A  start  is  made  usually  in  the  late  spring  to  reach 
the  railroad  in  the  fall.  The  drive  is  as  orderly  as  the 
march  of  an  army.  By  natural  selection  the  leaders 
of  the  cattle  take  the  head  of  the  herd.  They  are  es- 
pecially fitted  for  the  place.  The  same  ones  are  found 
in  the  front  every  day,  and  the  others  fall  into  posi- 
tion, so  that  throughout  the  drive  the  cattle  occupy 
the  same  relative  position  each  day. 

A  herd  of  a  thousand  beef  will  stretch  out  for  twc 
miles.  The  leaders  are  flanked  by  cowboys  riding 
upon  Mexican  saddles  with  high  backs  and  pommels. 
The  stirrups  are  worn  long,  the  riders  standing  in 
them  in  emergency.  The  Mexican  is  the  only  saddle 
fitted  for  rough  work.  The  cowboy's  seat,  his  ease  in 
the  saddle,  would  make  a  poor  showing  in  a  riding- 
academy  or  in  a  cavalry  school.  Yet  the  park  rider 
and  the  soldier  would  be  helpless  on  the  range.  The 
cow-puncher  of  the  plains  and  the  Cossack  of  the 
steppes  are  said  to  be  the  best  riders  in  the  world,  yet 
each  has  a  different  saddle  and  seat.  An  exchange 
of  equipment  makes  poor  riders  of  both  of  them. 

The  cow-puncher  of  Texas  and  Arizona  wears  chaps 


The   Round-Up 


of  leather  or  sheepskin  to  protect  his  legs  from  the 
mesquit-bushes  or  the  thorns  of  the  cactus.  These 
plants  not  being  found  in  the  northern  plains,  chaps 
are  not  worn  there.  The  cowboy  wears  a  handkerchief 
about  the  neck,  not  for  protection  from  the  sun,  but  to 
cover  the  mouth  while  riding  through  sand  and  wind- 
storms. 

Flankers  ride  on  each  side  of  the  herd  at  regular 
intervals.  The  chuck-wagon  and  the  spare  horses  fol- 
low far  enough  in  the  rear  to  avoid  the  dust. 

For  the  first  few  days  the  drives  are  long  and  hard, 
averaging  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  miles  a  day,  until 
the  cattle  are  well  tired.  Then  the  pace  is  set  at 
twelve  to  fifteen  miles. 

From  dawn  until  noon  the  herd  is  allowed  to  water 
and  graze  along  the  trail  toward  their  destination. 
About  noon  they  become  restive.  The  cowboys  then 
drive  them  steadily  forward  for  eight  or  ten  miles,  un- 
til early  evening,  when  they  are  halted  for  anothef 
graze.  As  night  falls  they  are  turned  into  the  bedding- 
grounds.  The  men  ride  slowly  around  the  herd, 
crowding  them  into  a  compact  mass.  As  the  circle 
lessens  the  beasts  lie  down  to  rest  and  chew  their  cuds. 

About  midnight  the  cattle  usually  get  uo,  stand 


270  I  he   Round-  U  p 

a  while,  and  then  lie  down  again,  having  changed 
sides.  The  night-guard  slowly  circles  the  herd,  the 
men  relieving  each  other  at  stated  intervals. 

On  rainy,  stormy  nights,  the  guard  has  to  double, 
as  the  cattle  are  restless  and  easily  stampeded.  Under 
a  clear  sky,  breathing  the  bracing  air  of  the  plains,  with 
the  herd  well  in  hand,  the  day's  work  is  a  pleasant 
one.  But  in  a  steady  downpour,  with  the  thunder  roll- 
ing and  the  animals  full  of  fear,  the  task  is  one  to 
tax  the  stoutest  heart. 

The  cause  of  a  stampede  is  always  some  trifle.  A 
heavy  clap  of  thunder,  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  break- 
ing of  a  stick,  the  howl  of  a  wolf,  will  start  the  herd 
off  in  a  blind  rush  in  any  direction,  heedless  of  cliffs 
over  which  they  may  tumble,  or  of  rivers  whose  cur- 
rent will  sweep  hundreds  of  the  frightened  beasts  to 
death. 

Once  the  cattle  are  off  on  a  stampede,  the  cowboys 
ride  recklessly,  madly  to  the  head  of  the  herd,  getting 
to  one  side  of  the  leaders.  With  shouts  and  pistol- 
shots  they  turn  the  leaders  to  one  side,  gradually  at 
first,  and  then  into  the  arc  of  a  great  circle.  Blindly 
racing  after  the  leaders  the  other  cattle  follow;  round 
and  round  they  plunge  until  head  and  tail  of  the  herd 


The   Round-Up  27* 

meet,  and  ""milling"  begins.  Any  that  fall  are  ground 
to  death  by  the  hoofs  of  the  others.  This  mighty 
grind  continues  until  the  animals  are  exhausted  or  they 
have  recovered  from  the  fight. 

To  soothe  the  hysterical  beasts,  the  men  begin  to 
sing.  Any  song  will  do,  but  the  drawling  old  hymn 
tunes  of  the  Methodist  camp-meetings  have  the  best 
effect.  Ofttimes  the  more  hysterical  members  of  the 
herd  are  shot,  as  a  stampede  means  a  great  loss.  Ani- 
mals that  stampede  once  are  prone  to  do  it  again.  The 
mingling  of  herds  increases  the  danger.  In  old  days 
the  approach  of  a  herd  of  buffalo  was  sure  to  start  a 
stampede  among  cattle.  Men  were  detailed  to  turn 
the  shaggy  monsters  aside  whenever  they  came  within 
hearing. 

Rivers  are  crossed  by  one  of  the  cow-punchers 
swimming  his  horse  in  the  lead  and  the  other  men 
driving  the  animals  after  him. 

Once  near  the  shipping-point,  the  herd  is  allowed  to 
rest  up  and  fatten,  while  the  owner  makes  his  deal  with 
the  cattle-buyers  of  Omaha  or  Chicago. 

The  animals  are  driven  or  decoyed  into  the  cars, 
and  the  last  journey,  to  the  packing-house,  begins. 
Punchers  accompany  them  to  feed  and  water  the  beasts 


272  The   Round-Up 

on  the  trip.  They  help  turn  them  into  the  pens.  One 
night  in  Chicago,  one  meal,  a  dinner  ending  with  a 
"Lillian  Russell"  (peaches  or  apple  pie  covered  with 
ice-cream)  as  dessert,  and  the  punchers  start  West 
again  to  begin  anew  the  work  of  the  fall  round-up, 
which  is  on  a  smaller  scale  than  the  spring  one. 

It  is  dawn  in  the  valley  of  the  Sweetwater.  The 
spring  rains  have  freshened  the  verdure  of  the  plain. 
Clumps  of  coarse  grass  fringe  the  river's  brink.  Cacti 
and  Spanish  bayonets  nod  in  the  morning  breeze, 
which  sweeps  down  from  the  mountains.  Yucca  palms 
and  sahuaroes  glisten  with  the  dew.  In  the  distance 
rise  the  foot-hills  crowned  with  stunted  live-oaks.  On 
the  horizon  tower  the  mountains,  pine-clad  to  the 
timber-line,  bare  and  desolate  above. 

The  outfit  of  Sweetwater  Ranch  has  gathered  for 
the  round-up  and  the  drive  to  the  railroad.  In  the 
absence  of  her  husband,  Echo  Payson  had  assumed 
complete  charge  of  the  ranch,  and  with  the  help  of 
Sage-brush  had  carried  on  the  work  just  as  she 
thought  Jack  would  do,  hoping  against  hope  for  his 
return  in  safety,  and  hiding  her  sorrow  from  those 
about  her. 


The   Round-Up 


Under  a  clump  of  cotton  wood,  a  chuck-  wagon  has 
halted.  Many  of  the  boys  on  the  round-up  are  still 
asleep,  the  night  herders  returning  to  camp.  The  cook 
has  started  his  preparations  for  breakfast.  His  wagon 
has  a  covered  top  like  a  prairie-schooner.  The  tail- 
board has  been  lowered  to  form  a  table,  supported  by 
rawhide  straps.  About  him  are  scattered  tin  cups  and 
kitchen  utensils.  A  thin  spiral  of  smoke  arises  from 
the  fire  which  has  been  made  in  a  shallow  pit  to  pre- 
vent a  spread  of  flames.  The  flickering  flashes  il- 
lumine the  cook's  face  as  he  bends  over  a  steaming  pot 
of  coffee,  and  reveal  the  features  of  Parenthesis. 

Parenthesis  is  mixing  dough  in  a  dish-pan  set  on 
the  tail-board.  Sage-brush  kneels  near  him,  putting 
on  his  spurs,  preparatory  to  saddling  up  as  he  goes 
on  the  first  relief. 

"Wake  up  Texas  and  the  other  boys,  Fresno,"  or- 
dered Sage-brush.  The  Californian  threw  away  the 
butt  of  his  cigarette  and  shook  each  man  by  the  shoul- 
der. With  much  yawning  and  rubbing  of  eyes  the 
men  crawled  from  their  sleeping-bags.  Dashing  cold 
water  into  their  faces  from  a  basin  beside  the  water- 
barrel,  they  drank  copiously  of  the  coffee  which  Pa- 
renthesis poured  out  for  them. 


274  The    Round-Up 

"Mostly  all  the  boys  are  in  now,  ain't  they?"  asked 
Parenthesis,  looking  about  the  group. 

"Yep,"  answered  Sage-brush,  "we'll  finish  brandin' 
the  calves  to-day.  I  reckon  Fresno  will  have  to  take 
charge  of  the  drive.  I  can't  leave  the  ranch  until 
Jack  gets  back." 

Show  Low  was  the  only  sleeper  who  had  not  re- 
sponded to  Parenthesis'  call.  That  worthy  walked 
over  and  gave  him  a  kick  which  brought  forth  a  grunt 
but  no  other  sign  of  an  awakening.  Returning  to  the 
fire,  Parenthesis  took  a  tin  cup  and  poured  himself 
out  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"Heard  any  word  from  him  yet?"  he  asked,  as  he 
gulped  the  beverage. 

"Nothin*,"  replied  Sage-brush  grimly.  "Slim  wrote 
from  Fort  Grant  he  was  on  the  trail,  but  the  'Paches 
were  out  an'  they  wouldn't  let  him  leave  the  fort  till 
the  soldiers  went  with  him." 

"Slim  hadn't  oughter  gone  and  left  things  the  way 
he  did.  Buck  McKee  is  gettin'  a  lot  of  bad  men  to- 
gether, and  'lows  he  is  goin'  to  run  for  sheriff  him- 
self," growled  Fresno. 

"He's  sure  got  a  tough  outfit  with  him ;  Slim  being 
away  ain't  doin'  us  any  good.  All  the  rustlers  from 


The   Round-Up  275 

Texas  an'  New  Mexico  came  trailin'  into  the  country 
just  as  soon  as  they  heard  he  was  gone.  Won't  sur- 
prise me  if  we  have  a  run  in  with  the  bunch  afore  we 
git  through  with  this  round-up." 

"I  got  my  eye  on  that  Peruna,"  interjected  Fresno. 

"Peruna!  who's  he?"  asked  Texas. 

"One  of  Buck's  outfit,"  answered  Fresno.  "He  is 
mighty  slick  with  the  runnin'-iron  and  brandin'  other 
folks'  calves." 

"We  can't  be  too  careful,"  warned  Sage-brush. 
"Things  is  strained  to  the  bustin'-point,  and  any  prom- 
ise of  gun-play  is  goin'  to  set  off  a  whole  lot  of  fire- 
works. 

Show  Low  was  on  the  verge  of  waking  up.  This 
he  did,  by  gradually  increasing  the  volume  of  each 
snore  and  breaking  it  off  with  a  whistle. 

At  the  very  moment  Sage-brush  suggested  gun- 
play, Show  Low  snorted  his  loudest. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Sage-brush,  grabbing  his  re- 
volver. 

"Show  Low.  He's  a  regular  brass  band  when  he 
gets  started — from  the  big  trombone  down  to  the  tin 
whistle,"  laughed  Fresno. 

"It's  a  wonder  he  can  sleep  alongside  of  that  noise." 


276  The   Round-Up 

"He  can't,"  Fresno  volunteered.  "He'll  wake  him- 
self up  in  a  minute.  He's  off  now." 

The  snores  of  Show  Low  grew  more  frequent  until 
he  climaxed  his  accompaniment  to  sleep  with  one  awful 
snort,  which  awakened  him.  "Eh,  what's  that?"  he 
yelled,  as  he  bounded  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  queried  Fresno. 

Sage-brush  grinned  and  slowly  arose,  gathering  up 
his  saddle  and  rope. 

Swinging  one  over  each  arm,  he  started  toward 
the  corral,  saying:  "Come  on,  boys,  we  got  a  lot  to 
do  to-day.  Git  your  hosses." 

The  night  riders  were  coming  into  camp  greeting 
their  comrades  with  grunts,  or  in  a  few  words  telling 
them  what  to  guard  against  in  some  particular  part 
of  the  grazing  herd. 

The  sun  had  risen.  The  cattle  were  on  their  feet 
browsing  the  short,  sweet  grass,  moving  slowly  toward 
the  river. 

"Work,"  growled  Show  Low,  "darn  me  if  I  ain't 
commenced  to  hate  it." 

Fresno  picked  up  his  saddle  to  follow  his  foreman, 
but  paused  long  enough  to  fire  this  parting  shot  at 
the  cooE:  "Say,  Parenthesis,  if  them  biscuits  you're 


The   Round-Up  277 

makin'  is  as  hard  as  the  last  bunch,  save  four  of  'em 
for  me.  I  want  to  shoe  that  pony  of  mine." 

Parenthesis  threw  a  tin  cup  at  Fresno,  who  dodged 
it.  Punching  the  dough  viciously,  he  said:  "Darn 
this  housekeepin'.  Gets  a  feller's  hands  all  rough, — 
it's  enough  to  spile  the  disposition  of  a  saint." 

His  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  Buck  McKee  riding 
up  to  the  wagon  from  Lazy  K  outfit,  which  was  camp- 
ing a  mile  below  them. 

"Hello,  Cookie!     How  goes  it?"  was  his  greeting. 

"You  wind  it  up,  and  it  goes  eight  days."  Paren- 
thesis bellowed,  his  temper  fast  reaching  the  breaking- 
point. 

"Jack  Payson  ain't  back  yet?"  Buck  asked,  paying 
no  attention  to  the  bad  humor  of  Parenthesis. 

"Not  that  I  knows  on." 

The  cook  rolled  the  dough  with  elaborate  care. 

"Nor  Hoover?" 

"Ain't  seen  him,"  he  replied  curtly. 

"Well,  they  ain't  comin'  back,  either.  They  pulled 
it  off  pretty  slick  on  us  fellers.  Hoover  he  lets  Pay- 
son  go  and  makes  a  bluff  at  chasin'  after  him.  Then 
they  gets  off  somewhere,  splits  up  the  money,  and 
gives  us  the  laugh." 


278  TheRound-Up 

Parenthesis  turned  on  him  in  anger  and  shouted: 
"I'll  bet  my  outfit  against  a  pair  of  green  socks  that 
either  one  of  'em  or  both  will  be  back  here  before  this 
round-up  is  over." 

"You  will,  eh?"  snarled  Buck.  "Well,  we're  just 
waitin'  for  'em.  We'll  swing  Payson  so  high  he'll  look 
like  a  buzzard,  and  as  for  Hoover — well,  he's  served 
his  last  term  as  sheriff  in  this  yere  county,  you  hear 
me  shouting." 

McKee  cut  his  pony  with  his  quirt  and  dashed  away 
in  time  to  escape  an  unwelcome  encounter  with  sev- 
eral members  of  the  Sweetwater  outfit  who  were  riding 
back  to  camp. 

"S-t-a-y  with  him,  Bud,  s-t-a-y  with  him,"  shouted 
Parenthesis,  as  the  first  of  the  cowboys  pitched  on  a 
bucking  horse  past  the  chuck-wagon,  the  rider  using 
quirt  and  spurs  until  he  got  the  bronco  into  a  lope. 
The  other  boys  followed,  each  cayuse  apparently  in- 
venting some  new  sort  of  deviltry. 

For  two  weeks  before  the  round-up  the  outfit  had 
been  busting  broncos  at  the  home  ranch.  Each  morn- 
ing at  dawn  they  started,  working  until  the  heat  of  the 
day  forced  them  to  rest.  When  the  temperature 
crawls  to  104  in  the  shade,  and  the  alkali-dust  is  so 


The    Round-Up  279 

thick  in  the  corral  that  the  hoofs  raise  a  cloud  in 
which  horses  can  hide  themselves  twenty  feet  away, 
when  eyes  smart  and  the  tongue  aches  in  the  parched 
mouth,  it  becomes  almost  impossible  to  handle  your- 
self, let  alone  a  kicking,  struggling  bronco. 

As  one  day  is  like  another,  and  one  horse  differs 
from  another  only  in  the  order  of  his  tricks  to  avoid 
the  rope  and  the  saddle,  a  glimpse  of  the  horseman- 
ship of  Bud  Lane  and  his  fellows  will  serve  as  a  gen- 
eral picture  of  life  on  any  Western  ranch. 

The  breaking  of  the  ponies  was  the  work  of  Bud 
Lane,  who,  through  the  influence  of  Polly,  had  broken 
with  McKee  and  returned  to  work  on  Sweetwater 
Ranch  in  order  to  assist  Echo,  with  whom  he  had  be- 
come reconciled  on  discovering  that  she  had  been  loyal 
to  his  brother  even  to  the  extent  of  sending  her  hus- 
band into  the  desert  to  bring  Dick  back. 

Bud  was  the  youngest  of  the  hands,  but  a  lad  born 
to  the  saddle  and  rope.  "Weak  head  and  strong  back 
for  a  horse-fighter"  is  a  proverb  on  the  plains,  and 
Bud  had  certainly  acted  the  part. 

Fresno  and  Show  Low,  with  four  flankers,  had 
driven  into  the  corral  a  half-dozen  horses  untouched 
by  man  hands  since  the  days  of  colthood.  A  shout, 


*8o  TheRound-Up 

a  swing  of  a  gate,  and  the  beasts  were  huddled  in 
the  round  corral,  trembling  and  snorting.  This  corral 
has  a  circular  fence  slightly  higher  than  a  man's  head, 
with  a  snubbing-post  in  the  center. 

While  this  is  going  on,  Bud  has  laid  out  his  cow- 
saddle,  single-rigged,  his  quirt,  and  pieces  of  grass 
rope  for  cross-hobbling. 

"Ready,  Bud?"  asks  Sage-brush. 

"Yep,"  he  replies,  as  he  drops  into  the  corral. 

Bud  adjusts  the  hondo  and  loop  of  his  lariat,  keep- 
ing his  eye  on  the  circling  horses,  and  picking  out  his 
first  victim.  The  rope  snakes  through  the  air,  and 
falls  over  the  head  of  a  pony.  Leaping,  bucking,  stri- 
king with  his  hoofs  at  the  rope  about  his  neck,  the 
horse  fights  and  snorts.  As  the  rope  tightens,  shutting 
off  his  wind,  he  plunges  less  viciously. 

Bud,  with  the  help  of  Fresno  and  Show  Low, 
takes  a  turn  about  the  snubbing-post,  easing  up  the 
rope  to  prevent  the  horse  from  breaking  his  neck  when 
he  falls. 

The  pony,  with  braced  feet,  hauls  on  the  lariat,  until, 
choking,  it  throws  itself.  Bud  in  a  twinkling  has  his 
knee  on  the  bronco's  neck.  Grasping  the  under  jaw, 
he  throws  the  head  up  in  the  air  until  the  nose  points 


The    Round-Up  281 

skyward.  The  turn  is  slipped  from  the  post,  and  the 
noose  is  slackened  and  pulled  like  a  bridle  over  the 
animal's  head,  to  be  fastened  curbwise  to  his  under 
jaw.  Stunned  and  choked,  the  horse  fights  for  breath, 
giving  Bud  time  to  hobble  his  front  feet  and  bridle 
it.  Bud  jumps  aside  as  the  bronco  struggles  to  his 
feet.  But  every  move  of  the  beast  to  free  itself  results 
in  a  fall. 

Meantime  the  hind  foot  has  been  noosed  and  fast- 
ened to  the  one  in  front.  Bud  has  cross-hobbled  the 
horse,  preparing  it  for  the  saddle  and  the  second  les- 
son. Holding  the  pony  by  the  reins  and  rope,  Bud, 
after  many  failures,  throws  a  saddle-blanket  across 
its  back.  With  one  hand  he  must  also  toss  a  forty- 
pound  saddle  into  place.  Every  move  Bud  makes  is 
fought  by  the  bronco,  every  touch  of  blanket  resented. 
With  his  free  hand,  Bud  must  now  slip  the  latigo  strap 
through  the  cinch-ring.  Dodging,  twisting,  strug- 
gling, covered  with  sweat,  the  horse  foils  Bud's  quick 
movements.  Finally  he  succeeds,  and  with  one  tight 
jerk  the  saddle  is  in  place. 

No  time  to  think  is  given  the  beast.  Fresno  and 
Show  Low  remove  the  hobbles,  but  Bud  is  twisting  an 
ear  to  distract  its  attention.  This  new  torture  must  b« 


282  The    Round- Up 

met  with  a  new  defense,  and  the  horse  is  so  dazed  that 
it  stands  still  to  puzzle  out  the  problem. 

This  is  what  Bud  has  been  waiting  for.  With  the 
agility  of  a  cat,  he  swings  himself  into  the  saddle.  The 
pony  arches  its  back  like  a  bow-string,  every  muscle 
taut. 

Bud  jerks  the  reins.  The  horse  moves  forward,  to 
find  that  its  legs  are  free.  Up  it  goes  in  a  long  curve, 
alighting  with  his  four  feet  stiffly  planted  together. 
The  head  is  down.  Maddened  and  frightened,  the 
bronco  bawls,  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare.  Up  in  the 
air  the  animal  goes  again,  drawing  up  its  hind  feet  to- 
ward the  belly,  as  if  it  would  scrape  off  the  cinch- 
strap.  The  fore  feet  are  extended  stiffly  forward. 
Every  time  the  bronco  hits  the  ground,  the  jar  is  like 
the  fall  of  a  pile-driver's  weight.  Bud  watches  every 
move.  When  the  feet  hit  the  earth,  he  rises  in  the 
stirrups  to  escape  the  jolt.  But  always  he  is  in  the  sad- 
dle, for  any  unexpected  move. 

The  horse  rises  on  its  hind  legs  to  throw  the  rider. 
Should  it  fall  backward,  the  wind  will  be  knocked  out 
of  the  animal,  but  Bud  will  be  out  of  the  saddle  before 
he  strikes  the  ground,  and  into  it  again  before  the 
horse  can  struggle  erect. 


The    Round-  Up 


If  it  tries  the  trick  again,  Bud  uses  the  quirt,  lashing 
it  about  the  ears,  the  flanks,  and  under  the  belly. 
There  is  not  a  part  of  the  body  into  which  the  biting 
leather  does  not  cut.  Lashing  the  flanks  drives  the 
horse  forward. 

The  struggle  has  been  going  on  for  twenty  minutes. 
Bud  is  covered  with  sweat  and  dust.  The  horse  has 
begun  to  sulk.  It  will  not  respond  to  rein  or  quirt. 

Now  is  the  time  for  the  steel.  Bud  drives  the  spurs 
deep  into  its  flanks.  The  horse  plunges  forward  with 
a  bounding  leap.  Again  the  spurs  rasp,  and  again  it 
plunges.  The  bronco  finds  that  going  ahead  is  the 
only  way  in  which  to  avoid  punishment.  Round  and 
round  the  corral  it  gallops  until  exhausted.  The  sweat 
is  pouring  off  the  brute  in  rivulets.  It  has  taken  Bud 
forty  minutes  to  give  the  first  lesson.  Easing  up  the 
bronco,  Bud  swings  out  of  the  saddle,  and  then  re- 
mounts. This  is  done  a  half-dozen  times,  as  the 
horse  stands  panting  and  blowing.  Then,  with  a 
quick  movement,  the  saddle  and  bridle  are  flung 
against  the  post.  Bud  pats  the  bronco  on  the  neck  and 
the  flank,  and  turns  it  loose  for  a  second  lesson  in  a 
couple  of  days.  A  third  will  follow  before  the  end 
of  the  week.  Then  he  will  saddle  the  horses,  unaided, 


284  The   Round-Up 

ride  them  once  or  twice  about  the  corral,  and  finally 
let  one  of  the  hands  give  each  the  first  lesson  on  the 
open  plains.  This  means  a  wild  dash  anywhere  away 
from  the  ranch.  The  rider  must  avoid  holes  in  the 
ground,  and  keep  up  the  pace  until  the  horse  slows 
up  on  its  own  account.  Four  or  five  of  these  lessons, 
with  a  post-graduate  course  in  dodging  a  waving 
slicker,  and  Sage-brush  will  declare  all  of  the  broncos 
are  "plumb  gentle." 

The  men  were  riding  out  their  new  string  to-day. 
As  each  passed,  Parenthesis  flung  a  jibe  at  him.  He 
had  resumed  his  bread-making  when  Polly  rode  up 
to  the  wagon. 

"Hello,  Parenthesis!"  was  her  greeting.  "What's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothin'.  This  yere  housekeepin'  is  gettin'  on  my 
nervous  system  some  fearful."  Parenthesis  struck  the 
dough  a  savage  whack,  and  added:  "I  ain't  cut  out 
for  housekeepin'." 

"You've  been  cut  out  all  right,"  retorted  Polly,  glan- 
cing at  his  legs,  "whatever  it's  for." 

Parenthesis  was  not  abashed.  "Yep,  fer  straddlin' 
a  hoss,"  he  proudly  replied,  as  if  that  were  the  chief 
«nd  of  man. 


The   Round-Up  285 

Polly,  thus  balked  in  her  teasing,  tried  a  new  form 
of  badinage. 

"Say,  the  boys  arc  all  braggin'  on  your  bread- 
makin'.  Won't  you  give  me  your  receipt?" 

"Good  cooks,"  said  Parenthesis,  "never  give  away 
their  receipts.  Brings  bad  luck  to  'em  next  time." 

"Aw,  come  now,  Parenthy,  tell  me,  an'  I'll  let  you 
make  my  weddin'-cake." 

"Will  you?  an'  let  me  put  in  whatever  I  want  fer 
jokes  on  the  boys?" 

"Yep,  everything  goes." 

"Oh,  I'll  give  'em  somethin'  to  dream  on,  you  can 
bet  yer  sweet  life!  Soap  fer  Fresno's  finger,  clothes- 
pin fer  Show  Low's  nose,  bottle  o'  anty-fat  fer  Slim! 
It's  a  swop,  Miss  Polly!" 

"Well,  out  with  yer  great  secret  o'  bread-makin'." 

"Well,  Miss  Polly,  I  take  flour,  an'  water,  an'  sour- 
in's,  an'  a  pinch  o'  salt " 

"Flour  an'  water,  an'  sourin's,  an'  a  pinch  o'  salt," 
repeated  Polly,  totting  the  list  off  on  her  fingers. 
"Why,  so  do  I,  an'  so  does  every  one.  It  must  lie  in 
the  workin'.  How  long  do  you  work  the  dough,  Pa- 
renthesis ?" 

"It  must  lie  in  the  workin',"  repeated  Parenthesis 


286  The   Round-Up 

solemnly.  "Why,  I  work  it,  an'  work  it "  he  con- 
tinued, with  exasperating  slowness. 

"How  long  do  you  work  it?"  asked  Polly  impa- 
tiently. 

"Till  my  han's  look  purty  clean  like!"  said  Paren- 
thesis, holding  up  his  floury  paws. 

"Then  you've  got  a  day's  work  still  before  you!" 
snapped  Polly,  huffed  at  seeing  herself  the  victim  of 
a  chaffing  that  she  herself  had  begun.  "I  won't  bother 
you  any  longer.  So-long!" 

Parenthesis,  however,  desired  to  continue  the  con- 
versation. "When  is  this  yere  hitch  between  you  an* 
Bud  comin'  off?"  he  asked. 

Polly  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and,  speaking  with 
assumed  haughtiness,  replied:  "We're  figurin'  on 
sendin'  out  the  cards  next  month." 

The  cowboy's  eyes  twinkled.  "Well,  I'm  a-goin'  to 
give  up  cigaroot-smokin'." 

"What  for?"  asked  Polly,  in  surprise. 

"Coin*  in  trainin'  to  kiss  the  bride." 

"That's  nice!"  said  Polly,  beaming. 

"Yep,  have  to  take  up  chawin',  like  Bud  Lane." 

Polly  was  saved  from  having  to  answer  by  Sage- 
brush galloping  up  to  the  wagon. 


TheRound-Up  287 

"Put  on  your  gun !"  he  shouted  to  Parenthesis. 

Asking  no  questions,  the  cow-puncher  obeyed  his 
foreman.  Trouble  was  brewing,  that  he  could  plainly 
see.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  obey  orders,  and  shoot 
when  any  one  tried  to  point  a  gun  at  him. 

Turning  to  Polly,  he  cried:  "Where's  Mrs.  Pay- 
son?" 

"She  came  over  with  me,  but  stopped  to  look  over 
the  tally  for  those  cows  that  are  goin'  with  the 
drive." 

More  to  himself  than  to  Parenthesis  or  Polly,  Sage- 
brush said:  "I  wish  she'd  stayed  at  the  ranch.  This 
range  is  no  place  for  women  now.  Buck  McKee  and 
his  outfit  has  tanked  up  with  Gila  whisky,  an'  they're 
just  pawin'  for  trouble." 

"What's  come  over  people  lately?"  asked  Polly. 

"It's  all  along  of  Hoover  goin'  away  like  he  did, 
and  leavin'  us  without  a  sheriff,  or  nobody  that  is  any- 
body makin'  a  bluff  at  law  and  order,"  cried  Sage- 
brush. 

"It's  sot  this  section  back  twenty  years,"  observed 
Parenthesis. 

"That's  what  it  has,"  agreed  the  foreman.  "Fresno 
reports  that  he  found  that  Peruna  slappin'  the  Lazy 


The   Round-  Up 

K  brand  on  one  of  our  calves.  There  ain't  nobody 
can  maverick  no  calves  belongin'  to  this  outfit.  Not  so 
long  as  I'm  ranch  boss  an'  captain  of  the  round-up. 
We've  got  to  take  the  law  in  our  own  han's  an'  make 
an  example  of  this  bunch,  right  now." 

Sage-brush  meant  what  he  said.  He  was  gathering 
reenforcements  from  his  own  men.  He  knew  that  the 
boys  of  the  Allen  ranch  would  side  with  him,  and  he 
felt  that  there  were  enough  lovers  of  law  and  order 
in  the  county  to  declare  themselves  against  the  high- 
handed methods  of  Buck  McKee  and  his  followers. 

"Come  on,  you  fellows!"  shouted  Show  Low,  as  he 
rode  past  the  wagon  up  the  range. 

"What  is  it  now?"  asked  Sage-brush. 

Over  his  shoulder  Show  Low  shouted :  "We  all  had 
a  run  in  with  that  Buck  McKee's  bunch.  Fresno's 
laid  out  with  a  hole  in  his  shoulder.  Billie  Nicker's 
cashed  in.  I've  got  some  of  the  Triangle  boys,  and 
we're  goin'  to  make  a  clean-up." 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  do  nothin'  unless  I  say  so.  We 
don't  want  no  range-war — we'll  git  the  man  that  did 
the  killin'.  Come  on,"  commanded  Sage-brush. 

Polly  galloped  after  the  men,  saying:  "Gee,  I'll 
miss  something  if  I  don't  hurry  up." 


CHAPTER  XV. 
Peruna  Pulls  His  Freight. 

When  Jack  closed  the  door  behind  him  to  follow 
and  find  Dick  Lane  and  bring  him  back  to  the  woman 
who,  the  restorer  believed,  loved  him,  Echo  Payson 
realized  the  supremacy  over  her  soul — her  pure  ideals, 
her  lofty  sense  of  justice — of  its  tenement,  the  wom- 
an's body — that  fair  but  fragile  fabric  which  trem- 
bled responsive  to  the  wild  wind  of  emotional  desire, 
and  the  seismic  shock  of  the  passion  of  sex.  Ever 
since  Jack  had  revealed  to  her  his  jealousy  of  Dick 
Lane,  she  knew  that  he  was  living  on  a  lower  moral 
and  spiritual  plane  than  herself,  and  that  no  longer 
could  she  look  up  to  him  as  the  strong  protector,  the 
nobler  being  than  herself  that  had  been  her  girlish 
ideal  of  a  husband.  Instead  of  this,  another  love 
sprang  instantly  into  her  heart,  that  of  the  stronger 
soul  for  the  weaker,  like  to  the  feeling  of  the  mother 
toward  the  child.  The  moral  side  of  her  desire  toward 
Jack  now  became  fixed  in  the  purpose  to  lift  him  up 
to  her  own  level. 


290  The    Round-Up 

Now  that  he  had  gone  from  her  on  a  mission  that 
was  fulfilling  this  very  purpose  of  regeneration — al- 
though she  had  not  sent  him  upon  it  for  his  sake,  but 
her  own — Echo  knew  that,  after  all,  she  was  a  woman. 
She  loved  Jack  Payson  with  the  unreasoning  and  un- 
restrained passion  that  sways  even  the  highest  of  her 
sex.  By  the  balance  of  natural  law  she  was  lowering 
herself  to  meet  him  as  he  was  coming  up  in  the  moral 
scale,  and  thus  preparing  for  herself  and  her  husband 
a  happy  union  of  a  mutual  understanding  of  weak- 
nesses held  in  common.  Were  Echo  to  remain  always 
on  the  heights  and  Jack  in  the  valley,  sooner  or  later 
a  cloud  would  have  separated  them,  a  ghostly  miasma 
rising  from  the  grave  of  Dick  Lane,  whom  Echo 
would  have  idealized  as  the  nobler  man. 

She  very  sensibly  took  refuge  from  these  perplex- 
ing problems  by  jumping  into  the  active  life  of  the 
ranch. 

Faithfully  she  tried  to  perform  all  that  she  thought 
Jack  would  have  done.  Her  father  and  mother  wanted 
her  to  come  back  to  her  old  home  until  he  returned. 
There  she  would  have  more  company  and  fewer  mem- 
ories of  Jack  surrounding  her.  Each  offer,  each  sug- 
gestion was  kindly  but  firmly  put  aside.  When  Jack 


The   Round-Up  291 

returned  she  must  be  the  first  to  welcome  him,  the  first 
to  greet  him  at  his  threshold,  whether  it  was  broad 
daylight  or  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night.  From 
her  lips  he  must  learn  he  had  been  forgiven ;  she  alone 
must  tell  him  how  much  she  loved  him,  and  that  to- 
gether they  must  go  through  life  until  the  last  round- 
up. 

Echo  and  her  father,  who  was  looking  after  his  own 
cattle  on  the  round-up,  rode  up  to  the  chuck-wagon, 
after  Parenthesis  and  Sage-brush  crossed  the  valley 
to  mete  out  justice  to  Peruna  and  fight  out  any  at- 
tempts at  a  rescue. 

Dismounting,  Echo  walked  wearily  to  the  fire  and 
sat  down  on  a  box.  Bravely  though  she  tried  to  con- 
ceal it,  the  strain  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  her.  The 
tears  would  come  at  times,  despite  her  efforts  to  fight 
them  off.  The  burden  was  so  heavy  for  her  young 
shoulders  to  bear. 

A  note  from  Slim,  written  at  Fort  Grant,  with  a 
lead-pencil,  on  a  sheet  of  manila  paper,  told  her  brief- 
ly that  he  was  going  into  the  Lava  Beds  with  the 
troops — as  the  Apaches  were  out.  Dick  and  Jack,  he 
wrote,  were  somewhere  in  the  Lava  Beds,  and  he 
would  bring  them  back  with  him.  She  dared  not  let 


The    Round-Up 


herself  think  of  the  Apaches  and  the  horrors  of  their 
cruelties. 

"Better  let  me  get  you  somethin'  to  eat,"  said  her 
father,  returning  from  picketing  the  horses. 

Echo  smiled  wanly  at  her  father's  solicitude.  "I  am 
not  hungry,  Dad." 

Jim  seated  himself  by  the  fire.  He  recognized  his 
helplessness  in  this  trouble.  There  was  nothing  he 
could  do.  If  one  of  the  boys  was  what  Allen  would 
have  called  it,  "down  on  his  luck,"  he  would  have  asked 
him  to  have  a  drink,  but  with  Josephine  and  the  girls 
he  was  at  his  wit's  end.  The  sufferings  of  his  loved 
daughter  cut  deeply  into  his  big  heart. 

"You  been  in  the  saddle  since  sunup,"  he  said. 
"You  hain't  had  nuthin'  to  eat  since  breakfast  —  I  'don't 
see  what  keeps  you  alive." 

"Hope,  Dad,  hope.  It  is  what  we  women  live  upon. 
Some  cherish  it  all  their  lives,  and  never  reap  a  har- 
vest. I  watch  the  sun  leap  over  the  edge  of  the  world 
at  dawn,  and  hope  that  before  it  sinks  behind  the  west- 
ern hills  the  man  I  love  will  come  home  to  my  heart. 
Oh,  Dad,  I'm  not  myself!  I  haven't  been  myself  since 
the  day  I  sent  him  away  —  my  heart  isn't  here.  It's 
out  in  the  desert  behind  yon  mountains  —  with  Jack." 


The    Round-Up 


"Thar,  thar,  don't  take  on  so,  honey." 

Kneeling  beside  her  father,  she  laid  her  head  on 
his  lap,  as  she  did  in  childhood  when  overwhelmed 
with  the  little  troubles  of  the  hour.  Looking  into  his 
eyes,  she  sighed:  "Oh,  Dad,  it's  all  so  tangled.  I 
haven't  known  a  peaceful  moment  since  he  went  away. 
I've  sent  him  away  into  God  knows  what  unfriendly 
lands,  perhaps  never  to  return  —  never  to  know  how 
much  I  loved  him." 

Patting  her  head,  as  if  she  were  a  tired  child,  he 
said  :  "It'll  all  come  out  right  in  tHe  end.  You  can't 
never  tell  from  the  sody-card  what's  in  hock  at  the 
bottom  of  the  deck."  t 

Further  confidences  between  father  and  daughter 
were  interrupted  by  the  boys  of  the  round-up  dashing 
up  to  the  wagon,  with  Peruna  in  the  midst  of  the 
group.  Peruna  had  been  disarmed.  Dragging  the 
prisoner  from  his  bronco,  they  led  him  before  Allen, 
who  had  risen  from  his  seat. 

"What's  all  this,  boys?"  asked  the  ranchman. 

Sage-brush,  as  foreman,  explained:  "This  yere's 
Peruna  of  the  Lazy  K  outfit." 

Allen  looked  at  the  prisoner,  who  maintained  a  sul- 
len silence.  "What's  he  been  doin'  ?" 


294  The   Round-Up 

"Mostly  everything,  but  Fresno  caught  him  red* 
handed  brandin'  one  of  our  yearlin's,"  cried  Sage* 
brush. 

"It's  a  lie!"  broke  in  Peruna,  glancing  doggedly 
from  one  to  another  of  his  guards.  He  knew  death 
was  the  penalty  of  the  crime  of  which  he  stood  ac- 
cused. He  felt  that  a  stout  denial  would  gain  him 
time,  and  that  Buck  and  his  outfit  might  come  up  and 
save  him. 

"Polite  your  conversation  in  the  presence  of  a  lady," 
cried  Parenthesis,  nodding  toward  Echo. 

"That  calf  was  follerin'  my  cow,"  answered  Peruna 
sullenly. 

"It  was  follerin'  one  of  our  longhorned  Texas  cows 
with  the  Sweetwater  brand  spread  all  over  her," 
shouted  Show  Low,  moving  menacingly  toward  the 
cowering  Peruna. 

"Fresno  he  calls  him,"  continued  Sage-brush,  taking 
up  the  story;  "an'  this  yere  Peruna-drinking  bad  man 
turns  loose  his  battery  and  wings  Fresno  some  bad — 
then  little  Billie  Nicker  comes  along,  and  Peruna  plugs 
him  solid." 

Poor  Billie  had  been  Show  Low's  bunkie  on  many 
a  long  drive.  That  veteran  now  paid  this  last  tribute 


The   Round-Up  295 

to  his  friend.  "Billie,  who  ain't  never  done  no  harm 
to  no  one " 

"He  reached  for  his  gun "  began  Peruna.  Sage- 
brush would  not  let  him  finish  his  lame  defense. 

"You  shet  up!"  he  cried.  "We  don't  want  your 
kind  on  this  range,  an'  the  quicker  that's  published 
the  quicker  we'll  get  shet  of  ye.  We're  goin'  to  take 
the  law  in  our  own  hands  now — come  on,  boys." 

Two  of  the  boys  seized  Peruna,  dragging  him  to- 
ward his  horse.  Echo  halted  them,  however,  with  the 
query :  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  this  man  ?" 

"Take  him  down  to  the  creek  and  hang  him  to  that 
big  cotton  wood "  cried  Show  Low  savagely. 

Before  Echo  could  answer,  Peruna  demanded  a 
hearing.  "Hoi'  on  a  minute,  I  got  something  to  say 
about  that!" 

"Out  with  it,"  growled  Sage-brush. 

"Las'  time  there  was  an  affair  at  that  cottonwood 
the  rope  broke,  an'  the  hoss-thief  dropped  into  the 
creek,  swum  acrost,  and  got  away." 

Sage-brush  glared  grimly  at  Peruna.  "Well,  we'll 
see  that  the  rope  don't  break  with  you." 

In  all  seriousness  Peruna  replied:  "I  hope  so.  I 
can't  swim." 


296  The    Round-Up 

Polly,  glancing  down  the  valley,  saw  Buck  McKee, 
with  a  half-dozen  of  his  outfit,  riding  furiously  to  the 
rescue  of  Peruna. 

"Look  out,  boys,  here  comes  Buck  McKee  now!"  she 
shouted. 

Unconsciously  the  mefi  laid  their  hands  on  their 
guns  and  assumed  offensive  attitudes. 

Allen  cried  sharply:  "Keep  your  hands  off  your 
guns,  boys.  One  bad  break  means  the  starting  of  a 
lot  of  trouble." 

Buck  and  his  band  threw  themselves  off  their 
horses,  ranging  themselves  opposite  Sage-brush  and 
the  Sweetwater  boys. 

Swaggering  up  to  Sage-brush,  the  half-breed  inso- 
lently demanded :  "Who's  the  boss  of  this  yere  Pay- 
son  outfit?" 

"I  reckon  you  are  talkin'  to  him  now,"  coolly  replied 
the  foreman. 

"You've  got  one  of  my  boys  over  here,"  bellowed 
Buck,  adding  with  the  implied  threat :  "an'  we've  come 
for  him." 

Sage-brush  was  not  bluffed  by  Buck's  insolence  or 
his  swaggering  manners.  "I  reckon  you  can't  have 
him — not  just  yet." 


The   Round-Up  297 

"What's  he  been  doing?"  demanded  Buck. 

"He  killed  Billie  Nicker — that's  one  thing." 

"Self-defense,"  loftily  replied  Buck.  "He  was 
'tendin'  to  his  own  business  when  your  two  men  come 
up  and  begin  pickin'  on  him." 

Bursting  with  anger,  Parenthesis  strode  up  to  Buck, 
and  shouted :  "He  was  brandin'  one  of  our  yearlin's, 
that's  what  his  business  was." 

Sage-brush  suggested,  in  addition:  "Perhaps  you 
mean  that  brandin'  other  folks'  cattle  is  the  reg'lar 
business  of  the  Lazy  K  outfit." 

"Anythin'  with  hide  and  no  mark  is  Lazy  K  to  you 
all "  growled  Show  Low. 

"Your  goin'  strong  on  reg'lar  proceedin's,  I  see," 
said  Buck  to  Sage-brush.  "You  ain't  sheriff  of  this 
yere  county,  air  you  ?" 

"That's  jest  it.  Somebody's  got  to  act  sooner  or 
later,  an'  if  there  ain't  no  reg'lar  law,  we'll  go  back 
to  the  old  times,  an'  make  our  own." 

The  Sweetwater  outfit  assented  unanimously  to 
Sage-brush's  declaration  of  freedom  from  outlaw  rule 
in  the  county. 

"You're  a  fine  lot  to  set  up  as  law-abidin'  citi- 
zens  "  sneered  Buck, 


298  TheRound-Up 

"Workin'  for  a  man  that  had  to  hop  the  country 
to  keep  clear  of  the  rope,"  interjected  Peruna,  who, 
heartened  up  by  the  advent  of  McKee,  began  pouring- 
oil  on  a  smoldering  fire. 

Sage-brush  turned  savagely  upon  him :  "That'll  do 
for  you." 

Echo  walked  hastily  to  Sage-brush's  side.  She  felt 
her  presence  might  help  to  avoid  the  outbreak  which 
she  saw  could  not  long  be  avoided. 

Peruna  had  lost  control  of  tongue  and  discretion 
by  this  time. 

"You'll  never  see  him  back  in  this  section  again. 
You  all  know  where  he  is — 'cross  the  line  in  Old 
Mexico — why,  she's  fixin'  to  make  a  clean-up  now,  and 
sell  out  and  join  him!" 

Sage-brush  reached  for  his  gun,  but  Echo  restrained 
him. 

"You "  he  cried. 

Buck  turned  angrily  on  Peruna.  "You  keep  your 
mouth  shet,"  he  shouted. 

Peruna  subsided  at  his  boss'  command,  mumbling: 
'There  ain't  no  female  can  pull  the  forelock  over  my 
eyes." 

"Take  care,"  warningly  called  Buck. 


The   Round-Up  299 

Pertma  fired  up  again,  regardless  of  consequences. 
"Why,  I  see  through  her  game.  She's  glad  to  get  rid 
of  him,  so's  she  can  play  up  to  her  ranch  boss,  Hand- 
some Charley  there." 

Buck  had  to  act  instantly  to  preserve  his  supremacy 
over  his  men. 

Before  any  of  the  Sweetwater  outfit  could  reach 
Peruna's  side,  or  pull  a  gun  to  resent  the  insult,  Buck 
was  on  top  of  him.  With  a  blow  full  in  the  mouth,  he 
knocked  him  sprawling.  Echo  had  seized  Sage-brush's 
hand,  preventing  him  from  firing.  The  other  men 
moved  as  if  to  kick  Peruna  as  he  lay  prostrate. 

"Let  him  alone.  He's  goin'  to  ask  the  lady's  par- 
don," snarled  Buck,  covering  him  with  his  gun. 

Peruna  raised  himself  on  one  arm. 

"No,  I'll  be "  he  began. 

Buck  bent  over  him,  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  tensely 
and  quickly.  "Quick!  I  don't  want  to  have  to  kill 
you.  You  damn'  fool,  don't  you  see  what  I'm  playin' 
fer?" 

"He  ain't  fit  to  live!"  shouted  Show  Low. 

Buck  turned  on  the  cowboy.  It  was  his  fight,  and 
he  was  going  to  handle  it  in  his  own  fashion. 

"Lem  me  handle  this  case,"  he  interrupted.    "Ther' 


The    Round-Up 

ain't  no  man  can  travel  in  my  outfit  and  insult  a 
woman — you  ask  her  pardon — right  smart." 

Peruna  struggled  to  his  feet.    Buck  commanded : 

"On  your  knees." 

A  glance  at  Buck  showed  Peruna  how  deadly  in 
earnest  he  was.  Reluctantly  he  sank  to  his  knees. 

"I  didn't  mean  what  I  said.  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
me "  he  whined. 

"That's  enough.  Now  git  up.  Pull  your  freight," 
Buck  ordered. 

"By  God,  no!"  interposed  Sage-brush. 

The  cowboys  seized  Peruna. 

Buck  saw  that  his  bluff  at  bossing  the  situation  was 
called.  He  turned  appealingly  to  Echo,  and  rapidly 
fabricated  a  moving  tale  about  Peruna's  heroic  rescue 
of  himself  from  drowning  in  the  Gila  River.  "An' 
I  swore  I  would  do  as  much  fer  him  some  day.  Now 
I  perpose  that  we  all  give  him  a  kick,  an'  let  him  go; 
let  him  have  two  hours'  start,  after  which  the  game- 
laws  will  be  out  on  him." 

Sage-brush  cried  out  against  the  plan,  but  Echo  was 
moved  by  McKee's  appeal  for  his  comrade,  and,  speak- 
ing low  and  beseechingly  to  Sage-brush,  said:  "It 
will  save  a  range-war  that  we  can't  afford  to  have  till 


The   Round-Up 


Jack  and  Slim  get  back."    Sage-brush  finally  assented. 

"Two  hours'  start.  Well,  he'll  have  to  go  some,  if 
he  gets  away.  Kick  him  and  let  him  go,"  he  com- 
manded. 

Echo  turned  away. 

The  cowboys  who  held  Peruna  threw  him  to  the 
ground,  and  every  man  of  the  Allen  and  Payson 
ranches  gave  him  a  vicious  kick,  Show  Low  putting 
in  an  extra  one  for  his  murdered  bunkie.  Last  of  all, 
McKee  approached  the  prostrate  man,  and  made  the 
mistake  which  was  to  cost  him  his  life  by  booting  Pe- 
runa cruelly.  The  man  was  a  stupid  fellow  by  na- 
ture, and  what  wits  he  had  were  addled  by  the  habit 
he  had  acquired  of  consuming  patent-medicines  con- 
taining alcohol,  morphin,  and  other  stimulating  and 
stupefying  drugs.  He  was  as  revengeful  as  stupid, 
and  could  have  forgiven  McKee's  putting  the  rope 
around  his  neck  more  easily  than  Buck's  joining  in 
the  humiliation  which  saved  his  life. 

Rising  from  the  ground  and  trembling  with  anger, 
Peruna  turned  on  the  half-breed,  saying:  "I'll  square 
this  deal,  Buck  McKee." 

"Losin'  vallyble  time,  Peruna.  Git!"  was  all  that 
his  former  boss  deigned  to  answer. 


302  TheRound-Up 

Peruna  limped  over  to  his  horse,  which  Parenthesis 
had  been  holding  in  custody,  mounted  it,  and  rode  off 
at  a  lope  for  the  river  ford.  He  crossed  it  in  sight  of 
the  Sweetwater  outfit,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
river-bank.  Here  he  dismounted,  and,  picking  a  small 
branch  of  cactus,  put  it  under  his  horse's  tail.  The 
poor  beast  clapped  the  tail  against  it,  and,  with  a 
scream,  set  off  on  a  wild  gallop  across  the  mesa. 
Peruna  hobbled  up  the  river  a  mile  or  so,  half -waded, 
half-swam,  to  the  other  side,  and  entered  an  arroyo, 
whose  course  led  back  near  the  camp  of  the  Sweet- 
water  outfit.  He  had  been  disarmed  by  the  cowboys 
of  his  revolver,  but  not  of  his  knife. 

After  Peruna  had  been  visited  with  his  punishment, 
Echo  retraced  her  steps. 

Bowing  to  her,  hat  in  hand,  Buck  made  his  apolo- 
gies. "Ma'am,  I'm  plumb  sorry.  My  mother  was  a 
Cherokee  squaw,  but  I'm  white  in  some  spots.  If 
you'll  let  your  ranch  boss  come  along  with  us,  we'll 
settle  this  brandin'-business  right  now." 

Sage-brush  did  not  care  to  accept  the  offer,  but 
Echo  ordered  him  to  go  with  the  Lazy  K  outfit.  See- 
ing it  was  useless  to  argue  with  her,  he  said :  "Come 
on,  boys." 


H 


The   Round-Up  3°3 

Ere  they  had  ridden  out  of  sight,  Echo  sank,  ex- 
hausted, on  the  seat  by  the  fire.  She  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  sobbed : 

Polly  played  the  role  of  comforter. 

"Don't  mind  'em,"  she  said.  "Better  come  to  the 
ranch  with  me.  You're  all  tuckered  out.  You've  been 
runnin'  this  ranch  fer  a  month  like  a  man." 

"I'll  take  your  advice,  Polly,  and  ride  home.  Tell 
Dad  I  want  him,  will  you?" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Death  of  McKee,  Disappointed  Desperado. 

Bud's  conscience  was  not  troubling  him  so  much 
now.  In  fact,  he  was  rather  proud  of  his  conduct  of 
late.  He  had  "shaken"  Buck  McKee,  and  he  had  for- 
given Echo  for  all  the  hard  thoughts  he  had  against 
her — without  considering  that  she  would  be  more 
than  woman  if  she  failed  to  harbor  resentment  against 
the  man  who  had  prevented  her  from  calling  her  hus- 
band back  from  the  desert. 

In  the  absence  of  Slim,  both  Bud  and  McKee  had 
attained  a  feeling  of  security  in  the  matter  of  the 
Terr  ill  murder.  McKee  had  already  ventured  to  use 
some  of  his  share  of  the  robbery  in  gambling.  Bud 
had  not  yet  convinced  himself  either  of  the  right  or  the 
advisability  of  spending  his  share.  Both  conscience 
and  fear  advised  him  to  keep  the  blood-money  intact. 
He  carried  it  with  him  wherever  he  went,  and  became, 
in  time,  quite  pleased  with  himself  because  of  his 
compunctions  in  doing  so.  He  was  even  pharisaical 
about  McKee's  gambling.  No,  when  his  mind  had  be- 


TheRound-Up  3<>5 

come  clear  about  keeping  it,  he  would  make  an  honest 
use  of  it,  such  as  investing  it  in  a  saloon  in  Florence. 
When,  however,  he  suggested  to  Polly  that  dispens- 
ing liquors  over  a  bar  and  running  a  faro-game  on 
the  side  would  be  a  congenial  occupation,  suited  to 
their  talents,  she  sat  down  forcibly  upon  his  aspiration, 
and  they  finally  compromised  on  Polly's  proposition  to 
conduct  a  livery-stable  in  Tucson,  where,  Polly  felt, 
though  she  did  not  say  so  to  Bud,  that  Sheriff  Hoover, 
with  whom  she  had  been  flirting  too  dangerously, 
would  not  be  in  evidence,  as  in  Florence. 

Polly,  however,  was  greatly  puzzled  over  Bud's 
confidence  in  his  ability  to  raise  the  wind  that  would 
launch  this  delectable,  but  to  her  mind  illusory,  enter- 
prise. In  a  moment  of  weakness  he  intimated  that  he 
already  had  the  money  in  hand. 

How  had  he  got  it  ?  she  demanded. 

"Saved  it,"  he  said. 

When  she  asked  him  how  he  could  have  saved  the 
thousand  dollars  demanded  for  the  stable  out  of  his 
salary  of  forty  dollars  a  month,  he  replied : 

"By  economizin'.    I've  cut  off  my  chawin'-tobacco." 

"That  cost  you  two  bits  a  week,  an'  you've  taken  up 
cigarettes  at  a  dime  a  day,"  said  observant  Polly.  "I 


11  The   Round-Up 

know  what  you've  been  doin',  you've  been  gamblin'." 

"Cross  my  heart,  Polly,  I  haven't,"  said  Bud,  and 
Polly,  who  had  no  great  objection  to  using  money  won 
at  cards,  so  long  as  she  did  not  positively  know  the 
fact,  discontinued  her  objections,  and  resumed  the  de- 
lightful occupation  of  castle-building.  The  home  she 
had  in  view  consisted  of  three  rooms  over  the  livery- 
stable. 

"I  want  a  red  carpet  in  the  front  room,  an'  wall- 
paper like  that  at  Bowen's  store,  with  hosses  jumpin* 
gates  on  it " 

"Don't  you  think  there  will  be  a  leetle  too  much 
hoss  there,  Polly,  with  the  stable  under  us,  an'  the 
smell  a-comin'  up " 

"Sho,  Bud,  you  can't  have  too  much  hoss.  Why, 
it  was  the  hoss  smell  about  your  clothes  that  made 
me  fall  in  love  with  you,"  exclaimed  the  enthusiastic 
horsewoman.  She  continued : 

"An'  I  want  a  yellow  plush  furniture  set,  an'  a 
photograph-album  to  match,  an'  a  center-table,  an'  a 
Rock-of-Ages  picture,  an'  a  boudoir " 

A  boudoir  was  beyond  the  ken  of  Bud,  He  knew 
nothing  of  housekeeping.  This  must  be  one  of  those 
strange  articles,  the  mystery  of  which  he  would  have 


The   Round-Up  30? 

to  solve  before  he  could  feel  that  he  was  really  a  mar- 
ried man. 

"What  the  devil  is  a  boudoir?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  all  rich  women  have 
them." 

Bud  took  both  of  Polly's  hands  in  his.  Looking  her 
fondly  in  the  eyes,  he  said:  "Then,  by  thunder,  I'll 
get  you  two  of  'em.  We'll  raise  the  limit  when  we 
furnish  that  shack.  I'm  the  happiest  man  in  the  coun- 
try." 

"Well  you  ought  to  be,"  laughed  Polly.  "Just  see 
what  you  are  gettin'." 

"I've  got  to  chase  myself  back  to  the  house.  You're 
ridin'  night  herd  to-night,  ain't  you  ?"  she  added. 

"Yes.  I'm  on  the  cocktail  to-night.  I  am  goin'  to 
bunk  down  here.  I'll  be  up  to  the  house  at  sunup,  and 
we  can  go  over  to  Florence  together." 

"I'll  have  breakfast  ready  for  you.  Rope  my  pony 
for  me,  will  you?" 

Bud  was  smiling  and  happy  again.  All  of  his 
troubles  were  forgotten.  "All  right!"  he  cried,  as  he 
started  to  mount. 

"Say,  you're  awful  forgetful,  aren't  you?"  asked 
Polly  demurely. 


308  The   Round-Up 

Bud  looked  about  him  slightly  bewildered.  Then 
he  realized  his  oversight.  He  ran  to  Polly's  side,  and 
tried  to  kiss  her,  but  she  motioned  him  aside,  saying: 
"Too  late — you  lose." 

"But  I  didn't  know,"  stammered  Bud. 

"Next  time  you'll  know.  On  your  way,"  airily  com- 
manded the  girl. 

Bud's  face  darkened.     "Oh,  well,  good-by." 

Polly  looked  after  him  perplexed  and  angry.  His 
surrender  to  her  whims  without  a  fight  nettled  her. 

"Good-by,  yourself,"  she  snapped.  "He's  the  most 
forgetful  man  I  ever  loved.  If  I  thought  he  was  a 
gamblin'-man,  I'd  get  a  divorce  from  him  before  I 
married  him.  I  would  sure,"  murmured  Polly,  as  Bud 
disappeared  toward  the  corral. 

Polly's  musing  was  interrupted  by  the  return  of 
Buck  McKee. 

"Is  Bud  Lane  over  yere?"  he  asked. 

"You  must  have  passed  him  just  now.  He's  just 
got  in  from  night-herdinV 

"I  thought  I  seed  him  comin'  this  way.  When's  the 
weddin'-bells  goin'  to  ring?" 

Polly  flushed.  "Next  month.  Then  you'll  lose 
Bud's  company  fer  good,"  she  answered  defiantly. 


TheRound-Up  309 

"Well,  I  ain't  been  doin'  him  much  good,"  Buck 
assented.  "I'm  goin'  back  home,  though." 

Polly  gazed  at  Buck  in  surprise.  Here  was  a  new 
view  of  the  man;  one  she  had  never  considered.  It 
was  strange  to  hear  this  outlaw  and  bad  man  talk  of 
a  home.  The  repetition  of  the  word  "home"  by  Polly 
led  him  to  continue : 

"Yep.  Up  to  the  Strip,  where  I  was  borned  at. 
This  yere  climate's  a  lettle  too  dry  to  suit  me.  I'm 
goin'  to  get  a  leetle  ranch  and  a  leetle  gal,  an'  settle 
down  for  sure." 

"I  wish  you  may,"  said  Polly  heartily.  "You  sure 
acted  mighty  fine  about  that  Peruna  insultin'  Mrs. 
Pay  son." 

Harshly  as  Polly  had  felt  toward  Buck,  his  actions 
in  the  recent  incidents  had  softened  her  feelings  to- 
ward him. 

"I  admire  to  hear  you  say  it,"  said  Buck,  bowing. 
"I've  played  square  with  women  all  my  life.  I  ain't 
never  slipped  a  card  nor  rung  in  a  cold  deck  on  any 
one  of  'em  yet." 

Buck  sat  down  on  the  step  of  the  wagon.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  then  asked:  "Say,  did  you 
ever  have  a  premonition  ?" 


310  TheRound-Up 

"Nope!  The  worst  I  ever  had  was  the  hookin'- 
cough." 

Buck  smiled,  but  did  not  explain  to  Polly  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word. 

"Well,  this  premonition,"  he  continued,  "hits  me 
hard,  an'  that's  what  makes  me  start  for  home. 
Thought  I'd  like  to  say  good-by  to  you  an'  Bud.  I 
go  north  with  the  big  drive  in  the  mornin',  an'  won't 
see  you  ag'in." 

"Well,  good  luck  and  good-by  to  you."  Polly  held 
out  her  hand  in  her  most  friendly  fashion. 

Buck  arose  and  took  off  his  hat.  As  he  stepped  to- 
ward her,  he  cried:  "Same  to  you.  Good-by."  Grasp- 
ing her  by  the  hand,  he  added  warmly:  "An' — hap- 
piness." 

"I'll  tell  Bud  you're  here,"  cried  Polly  over  her 
shoulder. 

Buck  looked  after  the  girl  as  she  swung  across  the 
prairie  to  find  Bud. 

"She's  a  darned  fine  leetle  gal,  she  is,"  mused  Buck. 
"Seein'  Bud  so  happy,  kinder  makes  me  homesick. 
Things  is  gettin'  too  warm  for  me  here,  anyway.  If 
Payson  gets  back,  he'll  be  able  to  clear  himself  about 
that  Terrill  business,  an'  things  is  likely  to  p'int  pretty 


The   Round-Up  311 

straight  at  me  an'  Bud.  I'm  sorry  I  dragged  Bud  into 
that.  I  could  have  done  it  alone  just  as  well — an' 
kep'  all  the  money." 

McKee  sat  down  to  wait  for  Bud.  His  mind  was 
filled  with  pleasant  thoughts.  Having  assumed  a  chiv- 
alrous role  in  the  Peruna  incident,  he  was  tasting  some- 
thing of  the  sweet  sensations  and  experiences  that  fol- 
low a  sincerely  generous  action.  Smiles  and  pleasant 
greetings  from  Polly,  who  had  heretofore  met  him 
with  venomous  looks  and  stinging  words,  were  balm  to 
his  soul.  He  felt  well-satisfied  with  himself  and  kind- 
ly toward  the  whole  world.  The  fiendish  torturer  of 
helpless  men  and  harmless  beasts,  the  cold-blooded 
murderer,  the  devilish  intriguer  to  incriminate  an  in- 
nocent man,  thought  that  he  was  a  very  good  fellow, 
after  all;  much  better  than,  say,  such  a  man  as  Jack 
Payson.  He  had  at  least  always  treated  women  white, 
and  had  never  gone  back  on  a  friend.  When  he 
thought  how  Payson  had  drawn  his  pistol  on  trusting, 
unsuspecting  Dick  Lane  in  the  garden,  he  was  filled 
with  the  same  pharisaic  self -righteousness  that  inflated 
Bud  when  comparing  himself  with  McKee. 

His  enjoyment  in  contemplating  his  own  virtues 
was  overch  uded,  however,  by  a  vague  presentiment  of 


3"  The   Round-Up 

impending  danger,  the  "premonition"  he  had  spoken 
of  to  Polly — a  word  he  had  picked  up  from  fortune- 
tellers, whom  he  often  consulted,  being  very  supersti- 
tious, as  are  most  gamblers. 

And  Nemesis  in  the  person  of  Peruna  was  indeed 
approaching.  The  outlaw  crept  up  out  of  the  draw 
behind  the  contemplative  half-breed,  and,  leaping  upon 
his  back,  plunged  his  knife  in  McKee's  neck  with  a 
fierce  thrust,  into  which  he  concentrated  all  his  hatred 
for  the  humiliation  he  had  endured. 

With  a  stifled  cry  Buck  struggled  to  his  feet  to  face 
his  assailant,  drawing  his  gun  instinctively.  The  knife 
had  bitten  too  deeply,  however.  With  a  groan  he  fell ; 
weakly  he  tried  to  level  his  gun,  his  finger  twitching 
convulsively  at  the  trigger.  Peruna  waited  to  see  if 
he  had  strength  enough  to  fire.  A  sneering  smile 
added  to  the  evil  appearance  of  his  face.  Seeing  Buck 
helpless,  he  snatched  the  gun  from  his  hand.  Then 
he  turned  his  victim  over  so  he  could  reach  the  pocket 
of  his  waistcoat.  With  the  blood-stained  knife  he 
ripped  open  the  cloth  and  extracted  a  roll  of  paper  and 
money.  Peruna  was  kneeling  beside  the  body  of  his 
former  friend,  when  a  voice  drawled  • 

"Drop  that  knife!" 


The    Round-Up  3'3 

Peruna  jumped  up  with  a  grunt  of  dismay  to  see 
Slim  Hoover  sitting  on  horseback,  with  his  revolver 
held  upright,  ready  for  use. 

Peruna  hesitated:  "Drop  it!"  ordered  Slim  sharp- 
ly, slightly  lowering  the  gun. 

Peruna  tossed  away  the  knife  with  a  snarl. 

"I'll  take  care  of  your  friend's  bundle,  and  the  pa- 
pers and  money  you  took  from  his  pocket.  Drop  them. 
I  didn't  figure  on  gettin'  back  to  business  as  soon  as 
I  got  home,  but  you  never  can  tell.  Can  you?" 

The  last  remark  was  addressed  to  his  deputy,  Tim- 
ber Wiggins,  who  had  joined  him. 

"This  yere's  Timber  Wiggins,  deputy  sheriff  from 
Pinal  County,"  explained  Slim,  for  Peruna's  enlight- 
enment. "Mr.  Wiggins,  will  you  take  care  of  this 
friend  of  mine?"  continued  the  Sheriff,  glancing  from 
Peruna,  who  looked  at  him  stolidly,  to  Wiggins.  "I 
reckon  he's  been  doin'  something  naughty." 

The  two  men  dismounted,  keeping  the  outlaw  cov- 
ered and  watching  his  every  glance. 

"Anything  to  oblige,"  replied  Wiggins,  who  had 
solemnly  entered  with  Slim  into  his  assumed  formality. 

Wiggins  stepped  behind  Peruna,  and,  reaching  for- 
ward, removed  Buck's  gun  from  the  outlaw's  hoi- 


3M  The    Round-Up 

ster,  which  had  been  empty  since  Buck,  earlier  in  the 
day,  had  taken  his  revolver  after  he  had  insulted 
Echo. 

"Anything  to  oblige,"  said  Wiggins  to  Slim.  Then 
to  Peruna  he  commanded :  "Let's  take  a  walk.  You 
first.  I'm  noted  for  my  politeness. 

"You  might  tie  him  up  some,"  suggested  Slim. 

"I  sure  will,"  answered  the  deputy,  as  he  marched 
his  prisoner  toward  the  corral. 

Slim  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  fallen  man,  and 
turned  him  over  on  his  back  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Pe- 
runa's  victim.  He  saw  that  Buck  was  still  breathing, 
although  mortally  wounded,  the  blood  gushing  from 
his  mouth. 

McKee  recognized  the  Sheriff.  "Hullo!  when  did 
you  git  back  ?"  he  asked. 

"Jes'  now.  Is  this  your  money?"  said  Slim,  hold- 
ing the  roll  in  front  of  McKee's  eyes. 

"No;  it's  your'n.  Part  o'  what  I  took  from  'Ole 
Man'  Terrill.  The  idee  o'  not  recognizin'  your  own 
property!"  McKee  grinned  at  his  joke  on  the  Sheriff. 
"I  held  the  old  man  up,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Who  was  with  you?"  asked  Slim.  "There  was 
two." 


TheRound-Up  3*5 

McKee  was  silent. 

"Bud  Lane  was  the  other  man,"  hazarded  Slim. 

"No "  began  Buck,  but  Slim  interrupted  him. 

"He  was  with  you  that  night.  He  came  to  the 
weddin'  with  you.  It  ain't  no  use  in  denyin'  it.  I've 
been  thinkin'  it  all  out.  I  was  fooled  by  Jack's  pacin1 
hoss.  You  and  Bud " 

Here  McKee  interrupted  with  a  solemn  denial. 
Whether  from  a  desire  to  foil  the  Sheriff,  whom  he 
knew  was  Bud's  rival  in  love,  and  so  thought  him 
the  young  man's  enemy,  or  from  the  benevolent  spirit 
induced  by  the  recent  contemplation  of  his  virtues, 
McKee  was  impelled  to  give  an  account  of  the  mur- 
der which  very  convincingly  indicated  Bud  as  a  pro- 
testing catspaw,  rather  than  a  consenting  accomplice. 

At  the  end  of  the  story  he  smiled  grimly : 

"So  while  you  were  out  o'  the  county  on  a  wil'-goose 
chase  after  an  inercent  man,  Peruna,  he  goes  loco  on 
paten'-medicine,  an'  gits  the  guilty  party.  Joke's  on 
you,  Slim.  I  nomernate  Peruna  fer  nex'  sheriff." 

Exhausted  with  the  effort  and  pain  of  talking,  Mc- 
Kee dropped  his  head  upon  Hoover's  broad  breast  in 
a  faint.  Hoover  bore  him  down  to  the  spring,  and 
bathed  his  wound  and  mouth.  McKee  revived,  and  in 


The   Round-  Up 


broken  phrases,  which  were  accompanied  with  blood 
from  his  pierced  lungs  frothing  out  of  his  mouth,  con- 
tinued his  observations  on  the  ridiculous  and  unfortu- 
nate mistake  Peruna  made  in  killing  him. 

"Damn'  fool—  's  bes'  fr'en'—  I  would  herd—  'th  low- 
down  intellecks  —  nev'  'predated  —  no  chance  —  to  be 
firs'-class  —  bad  man." 

And  so  Buck  McKee,  desperado,  died  like  many  an- 
other ambitious  soul,  with  expressions  of  disappoint- 
ment on  his  lips. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  New  Deal. 

Bud  Lane,  returning  to  camp,  saw  the  returned 
Sheriff  supporting  the  dying  murderer  of  Terrill,  and 
listening  to  what  was  undoubtedly  his  confession.  He 
stole  away  before  he  was  observed. 

"It's  all  up  with  me,"  he  thought.  "Bud  has  told 
him.  Slim  hates  me  along  o'  Polly.  I'll  get  away 
from  here  to-night." 

He  met  Polly  by  the  mess-wagon. 

At  once  she  saw  that  something  had  happened.  Bud 
was  deathly  pale.  He  trembled  when  she  spoke  to 
him. 

"Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing.  I "  answered  Bud,  glancing  about 

him,  as  if  seeking  some  way  to  escape. 

"You're  looking  mighty  pale — are  you  sick?"  per- 
sisted the  girl. 

"Slim  Hoover — he's  back "  Bud  could  scarce- 
ly speak.  His  throat  was  parched.  Beads  of  perspira- 
tion stood  on  his  forehead. 


The   Round-Up 


"What!"  cried  Polly  joyfully.  "Is  Jack  with 
him?" 

"Listen  here,"  exclaimed  the  young  wooer.  "Slim's 
heard  about  our  goin'  to  get  married,  and  he's  sworn 
to  shoot  me  at  sight  -  "  It  was  a  lame,  halting  ex- 
planation, but  the  best  Bud  could  invent  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment.  He  wanted  to  get  away  to  have  time 
to  think. 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  replied  Polly  indignantly. 
"Why,  Slim  -  " 

In  his  excitement  Bud  would  not  let  her  continue 
her  defense  of  the  Sheriff. 

"It's  so.  He's  plum  locoed.  The  sun  mus'  have 
tetched  his  brains  out  in  the  desert,"  he  explained, 
with  rapid  invention.  "I  don't  want  no  run-in  with 
a  crazy  man.  I  might  have  to  shoot,  an'  Slim's  been 
a  good  fr'en'  of  mine.  So  I'm  going  to  keep  out  of 
his  way  for  a  while.  I'll  ride  over  to  the  railroad." 

Polly  could  not  comprehend  this  strange  behavior  of 
Bud.  Thinking  to  make  him  tell  her  his  trouble  by 
taunting  him  with  cowardice,  she  asked  : 

"Say,  look  here,  are  you  scared  of  Slim  Hoover? 
Just  let  me  handle  him." 

"No,  no,"  expostulated  Bud.     "Can't  you  under- 


The    Round-Up  3*9 

stand?     We've  been  such  good  friends,  and — and — I 
can't  pull  a  gun  on  him " 

Polly  was  speechless  with  surprise. 

"Here  he  comes  now,"  shouted  Bud.  "I'll  hide  in 
the  wagon  here " 

"Don't  hide!"  counseled  Polly.    "Why?" 

Bud  gave  her  no  answer,  for  he  had  already  disap- 
peared under  the  cover  of  the  mess-wagon. 

"I  don't  like  that  a  little  bit.  Slim  never  acted  lo- 
coed before.  I'll  have  to  be  mighty  careful,  I  s'pose, 
for  I  think  a  heap  of  both  Slim  an'  Bud." 

Slim  came  up  to  the  wagon  with  his  face  wreathed 
in  smiles.  "If  it  ain't  Miss  Polly "  he  yelled. 

Polly,  having  heard  that  crazy  people  had  to  be 
humored,  ran  to  meet  him,  and  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"You  dear,  sweet,  old  red-headed  thing!"  she  cried; 
"when  did  you  get  back?  Where  have  you  been? 
Where's  Jack.  Have  you  seen  Echo?"  One  question 
was  piled  upon  the  other  by  the  enthusiastic  girl.  Slim 
had  tried  to  stop  her  talking  that  he  might  answer  her, 
but  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  check  a  sand-storm. 
Out  of  breath  and  puffing,  he  finally  gasped : 

"Whoa!  whoa!    Yes'm.    I've  heard  of  them  Kansas 


320  The   Round-Up 

cyclones,  but  I  ain't  never  got  hit  with  one  afore." 

Polly  started  all  over  again.  "And  Jack,  did  you 
find  him? — tell  me  all  about  it." 

"See  yeah,"  answered  Slim,  "I  ain't  goin'  to  say 
nuthin'  to  nobody  till  I  see  Mrs.  Payson." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  pouted  Polly;  "not  even  me?" 

"Not  even — what  I've  got  to  say  she  must  heah  first. 
I'm  kinder  stiff — if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  set  down  a 
spell." 

Slim's  face  was  drawn  and  worn.  Although  he  had 
lost  none  of  his  weight,  he  showed  the  effects  of  the 
siege  of  hard  riding  and  fighting  through  which  he 
had  passed. 

The  mental  strain  under  which  he  had  labored  had 
also  worn  him  down.  Polly  was  more  than  solicitous 
for  his  comfort.  Not  only  did  she  like  the  Sheriff,  but 
she  was  now  fencing  with  him  to  protect  her  sweet- 
heart from  his  wrath.  She  had  concluded  that  Bud's 
charge  that  the  Sheriff  was  locoed  and  jealous  was  a 
cover  to  conceal  some  genuine  apprehension. 

"You  look  tuckered  out,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  'low  as  maybe  I  am.  Been  in  the  saddle 
for  two  weeks.  Kin  I  have  a  cup  of  coffee?" 

Polly  began  to  mother  him.    This  appeal  for  bodily 


The   Round-Up  321 

comforts  aroused  all  her  womanly  instincts.  She 
made  him  sit  down,  and  poured  the  coffee  for  him, 
saying :  "You  sure  can.  With  or  without  ?" 

"I'll  play  it  straight,"  grinned  Slim. 

"I  reckon  you'll  have  to,  anyway.    Here  you  are." 

Slim  took  the  cup  with  a  "thankee." 

He  drank  long  and  deeply.  Then  he  paused,  made 
a  wry  face,  and  danced  his  feet  up  and  down,  as  a 
child  does  in  anger  or  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a  laugh. 

"If  this  yeah's  coffee  give  me  tea,  an'  if  it's  tea  give 
me  coffee."  The  Sheriff  put  down  his  cup  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"It's  the  best  we've  got,"  replied  Polly.  "Sage- 
brush got  it." 

"Oh,  that's  it.  I  thought  it  tasted  like  sage-brush. 
How's  Bud?"  he  suddenly  demanded. 

Polly  glanced  nervously  at  the  speaker. 

"All  right,  I  s'pose."  She  tried  to  be  noncommittal. 
Her  nervousness  almost  betrayed  her. 

"Ain't  you  seen  him  lately?"  Slim  insisted. 

Polly  peeped  into  the  wagon  before  she  answered 
the  question.  "Yes — I  see  him  every  once  in  a  while." 

In  an  effort  to  change  the  subject  of  conversa 


322  The   Round-Up 

tion,  and  get  him  away  from  all  thoughts  of  Bud,  she 
asked :  "Say,  Slim,  what's  a  boudoir  ?" 

"A  what  whar?"  stuttered  Slim. 

"A  boudoir,"  Polly  repeated. 

Slim  was  puzzled,  and  looked  it.  Then  a  new 
thought  lighted  up  his  face. 

"You  don't  mean  a  Budweiser,  do  you?" 

Polly,  deeply  serious,  replied :  "No — that  ain't  it — • 
boudoir." 

Slim  ransacked  his  memory  for  the  word.  "Bou- 
doir," he  continued  reflectively.  "One  of  them  'fo'  de 
wah'  things  we  ust  to  have  down  in  Kentucky  ?" 

An  explanation  was  demanded  of  him,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  invent  one.  "Well,  first  you  get  a — get 

a "  Polly  had  fooled  him  so  many  times  that  he 

became  suspicious  in  the  midst  of  his  creation,  and 
asked : 

"Look  a  here — you're  sure  you  don't  know  what  a 
boudoir  is?" 

"Why,  of  course  not,"  answered  Polly  simply. 

Slim  was  relieved  by  her  reply. 

"All  right,"  he  resumed,  crossing  his  legs,  as  if  the 
position  would  help  him  better  to  think.  "A  boudoir 
is  a  see-gar." 


The    Round-Up  323 

"A  see-gar?"  echoed  Polly,  distinctly  disappointed. 
Bud's  offer  to  duplicate  the  boudoir  was  now  reduced 
to  the  proportions  of  "two  fer  a  nickel." 

"Yep,"  assured  the  Sheriff.  "They  are  named  after 
a  Roosian — one  of  them  diplomat  fellers." 

"What's  a  diplomat?"  Polly  was  finding  Slim  a 
mine  of  information,  but  all  of  the  sort  that  needed 
plenty  of  explantion. 

Slim  chuckled,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
drawled :  "A  diplomat  is  a  man  that  steals  your  hat 
and  coat,  and  then  explains  it  so  well  that  you  give 
him  your  watch  and  chain.  Sabe?" 

Polly  did  not  understand.  She  felt  that  Slim  was 
laughing  at  her,  but  she  could  not  see  any  fun  in  his 
remark.  To  end  the  discussion,  however,  she  said :  "I 
sabe." 

Polly  sauntered  away  from  the  wagon.  As  she 
passed  Slim,  he  tried  to  put  his  arm  about  her  waist. 
She  skilfully  evaded  him.  The  Sheriff  joined  her  in 
the  shade  of  cottonwood.  "You  know  I've  been  think- 
ing a  lot  of  you  lately,  Miss  Polly?" 

"Only  lately?"  she  asked  mischievously. 

"Well,  yes— that  is " 

This  conversation  was  becoming  too  personal  for 


324  The   Round-Up 

Bud,  who  in  an  effort  to  hear  all  Slim  had  to  say 
moved  incautiously  in  the  wagon.  Slim  heard  him. 

"Who's  in  that  wagon?"  he  cried,  moving  toward 
it.  "Show  Low  asleep?" 

"No.  Buddy,"  said  Polly,  thinking  she  might  as 
well  confess  the  deception  first  as  last,  and  using  the 
childish  nickname  of  her  lover  in  order  to  soften  Slim's 
anger  against  him. 

"Nobody,"  repeated  Slim,  not  fully  convinced  that 
he  was  mistaken,  but  stopping  in  deference  to  Polly's 
apparent  denial. 

"Who  do  you  s'pose,"  asked  Polly  pertly,  taking 
courage  when  she  found  that  Slim  did  not  continue  his 
investigation.  "You  ain't  after  any  Buddy,  are  you?" 

"No,  but  I'll  just  take  a  look  in  here,  'cause  I  got 
somethin'  partic'lar  to  say  to  you,  Miss  Polly,  an'  I 
don't  want  no  listeners."  And  he  moved  forward 
again. 

At  this  juncture  Polly  began  to  ply  her  arts  as  a 
coquette.  Looking  shyly  at  Slim,  she  murmured: 
"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  after  anybody?"  The  em- 
phasis on  the  last  word  was  so  plain  that  a  shrewder 
love-maker  than  Slim  would  have  been  deceived. 

"Eh?    What's  that?" 


TheRound-Up  325 

Polly  turned  her  back  to  him  with  assumed  bash- 
fulness.  Slim's  courage  arose  at  the  sight.  "Well, 
I  reckon  this  is  a  pat  hand  for  me,  and  that's  the  way 
I'm  a-goin'  to  play  it,  if  I've  got  the  nerve." 

Slim  smoothed  down  his  tangled  hair,  and  brushed 
off  some  of  the  dust  which  whitened  his  shoulders. 
"Look  yeah,  Miss  Polly " 

Then  his  courage  failed  him,  and  he  stopped.  Polly 
glanced  at  him,  to  help  him  over  the  hard  places.  Slim 
was  greatly  embarrassed.  "My  heart  is  right  up  in  my 
throat.  Well,  I  might  as  well  spit  it  out,"  he  thought 
aloud. 

Again  Slim  started  toward  the  girl  to  tell  her  of  his 
love,  and  again  his  courage  failed  him,  although  Polly 
was  doing  her  best  to  help  him. 

"Look  yeah,  Miss  Polly,  I've  been  after  somebody 
for  a  long  time  now " 

"Horse-thief?"  asked  Polly  coquettishly. 

"No,  heart-thief,"  blurted  Slim. 

"Stealing  hearts  ain't  no  harm." 

"Well,  just  the  same,  I'm  goin*  in  issue  a  writ  of 
replevin,  an'  try  for  to  git  mine  back."  laughed  Slim. 
He  was  about  to  slip  his  arm  about  Tier  waist  when 
she  turned  and  faced  him.  The  action  so  disconcerted 


326  The    Round-Up 

him  that  he  jumped  backward,  as  if  the  girl  was  about 
to  attack  him. 

"Where  is  it?"  asked  Polly. 

Slim,  deeply  in  earnest,  replied :  "You  know  where 
it's  hid.  You  know  just  as  well  as  I  kin  tell  you." 

Polly  became  remorseful.  She  realized  how  much 
Slim  was  suffering,  and  she  was  sorry  that  her  answer 
to  him  would  be  a  disappointment. 

"Please  don't  say  any  more,  Slim" — as  she  stepped 
away  from  him.  Slim  followed  her  up,  and,  speaking 
over  her  shoulder,  said :  "I  can't  help  it.  You've  got 
my  feelin's  stampeded  now,  an'  they  sure  has  to  run. 
I've  had  an  itchin'  in  my  heart  for  you  ever  since  I 
first  knowed  you.  You  come  from  Kentucky — well, 
I  was  kinder  borned  up  that  way  myself — in  Boone 
County,  an'  that  sorter  makes — well,  if  it  did,  what  I 
want  to  know  is " 

Slim  hesitated,  and  nervously  hauled  at  his  chaps. 

"Will  you  be  my " 

Frightened  at  his  boldness,  he  clapped  his  hand  over 
his  mouth. 

"Can  I  be  your "  he  began  again. 

Angry  at  himself,  he  said  under  his  breath:  "I'll 
never  get  this  damn'  thing  out  of  my  system."  In  his 


The   Round-Up  327 

earnestness  he  doubled  up  his  fist  and  shook  it  behind 
the  girl's  back.  Suddenly  she  turned,  and  found  his 
clenched  hand  directly  under  her  nose.  She  started 
back  in  dismay. 

"Excuse  me,"  humbly  apologized  Slim.  "I  didn't 
mean  for  to  do  that,  ma'am — deedy,  I  didn't — I  was 
only — that's — well,  I  reckon  I'm  a  little  bit " 

Slim  looked  directly  at  the  girl  for  the  first  time. 
She  was  trying  to  restrain  her  hearty  laughter.  Slim's 
face  broadened  in  a  grin.  "You're  a  mighty  fine  piece 
of  work,  you  are,  an'  I've  got  an  'awful  yearnin'  to 
butt  into  your  family." 

Polly  was  greatly  moved  by  Slim's  sincerity. 
"Don't,  please  don't !"  she  pleaded.  "Why,  I've  known 
all  along  that  you  love  me,  but " 

"But  what  ?"  he  asked,  when  she  hesitated. 

"I've  always  liked  you  real  well,  and  I've  been  glad 
that  you  liked  me.  I  don't  want  to  lose  your  friend- 
ship, though — and,  oh,  please  forgive  me,  please  do." 
Polly  was  very  repentant,  showing  it  by  the  tones  of 
her  voice  and  in  her  eyes. 

Slim  was  puzzled  at  first.  Then  it  came  to  him  that 
the  girl  had  refused  to  marry  him.  "Oh !  I  'low  you- 
all  ain't  a-goin'  to  say  you  love  me,  then." 


328  TheRound-Up 

"I  don't  believe  I  am."  Polly  smiled  through  her 
tears. 

Slim  paused,  as  if  steadying  himself  to  meet  the 
full  force  of  the  blow. 

"Mebbe  it's  along  of  my  red  hair?" 

"It  is  red,  isn't  it?"  Polly  smiled  kindly. 

Slim  ran  his  fingers  through  his  locks,  and  then 
looked  at  his  fingers,  as  if  expecting  the  color  would 
come  of!  on  his  hands.  "  'Tain't  blue,"  he  said. 

Another  thought  came  to  him.  "Freckles/'  he  asked 
laconically. 

Polly  only  shook  her  head. 

"There's  only  one  cure  for  freckles — sandpaper," 
grinned  Slim. 

"But  it  isn't  freckles,"  replied  the  girl. 

Slim  looked  at  his  hands  and  feet.  "Maybe  it's 
fat?"  he  hazarded.  "Oh,  I  know  I'm  too  fat!  It 
beats  all  how  I  do  keep  fat." 

Slim  looked  into  his  hat  and  sighed.  "Well,  I  sup- 
pose we  don't  get  married  this  year,  do  we  ?" 

"No,  Slim,"  said  Polly  gently. 

"Nor  any  other  year  to  come?"  Slim  was  still 
hopeful. 

"That's  the  way  it  looks  now." 


The    Round-Up  329 

Slim  put  on  his  hat  and  tried  to  walk  jauntily  to  the 
fire,  whistling  a  bit  of  a  tune.  The  effort  was  a  sad 
failure.  "Here's  where  I  get  off.  I'm  in  sure  bad 
luck.  Somebody  must  have  put  a  copper  on  me  when 
I  was  born.  I  'low  I  gotter  be  movin'." 

"You  won't  hate  me,  will  you,  Slim?" 

The  Sheriff  took  the  girl's  hands  in  his  and  kissed 
them.  "Hate  you?"  he  almost  shouted.  "Why,  I 
couldn't  learn  to  do  that ;  no,  siree !  Not  in  a  thousand 
years." 

Polly  slapped  Slim  on  the  back.  "I'm  glad  of  that," 
she  cried.  "Brace  up.  You'll  get  a  good  wife  some 
day.  There's  lots  of  good  fish  in  the  sea." 

Slim  glanced  at  her  ruefully.  "I  don't  feel  much 
like  goin'  fishin'  jest  now.  Would  you  mind  tellin' 
me  if  I  lose  out  on  this  deal  along  of  somebody  else 
a-holdin'  all  the  cards?"  Slim  waited  for  Polly's  an- 
swer. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?" 

"No,"  he  said  simply. 

"But  he  told  me " 

"Who  is  it "  he  insisted. 

"N0 — if  you  don't  know  his  name,  I  won't  tell 
you,"  decided  Polly. 


330  The    Round- Up 

"Mebbe  it's  jest  as  well,  too,"  assented  Slim.  "I 
don't  think  I'd  feel  any  too  friendly  toward  him." 

Slim  moved  toward  the  wagon.  The  action  was 
purely  involuntary,  but  it  frightened  Polly  so  much 
that  she  cried  aloud. 

Slim  grasped  at  once  the  reason  for  her  fear.  "Is 
the  feller  in  that  wagon?"  he  shouted. 

"You  wouldn't  do  him  any  harm,  would  you  ?"  cried 
Polly. 

"Is  he  in  that  wagon  ?"  Slim  repeated  angrily. 

Polly  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

"What's  he  hiding  for?"  he  demanded. 

Slim  pulled  his  gun  and  covered  the  opening. 
"Come  out,  you  coward,"  he  shouted.  Polly  caught 
Slim  by  the  right  wrist,  so  he  could  not  fire. 

Bud  leaped  from  the  wagon,  drawing  his  gun  as  he 
did  so.  "You  sha'n't  call  me  a  coward,"  he  shouted 
to  Slim. 

Polly  ran  behind  Bud,  and,  reaching  her  arms  about 
his  waist,  held  down  his  hands,  depressing  the  muzzle 
of  his  revolver.  Slim  danced  up  and  down  in  the  ex- 
citement with  his  revolver  in  his  hand.  Polly  kept  call- 
ing on  both  of  the  men  not  to  shoot. 

"Let  him  alone,"  shouted  Slim  excitedly.    "Let  him 


I 


The    Round-Up  33* 

alone,  Miss  Polly.  He's  only  four-flushin',  an'  I  ain't 
gun  shy." 

"Now,  look  a  yeah,  sonny,"  he  cried  to  Bud,  "if  that 
squirt-gun  of  yours  goes  off  an'  hits  me,  an'  I  find  it 
out— well,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  spank  you." 

Bu«i  tried  to  break  away  from  Polly,  begging  her 
to  "Let  go." 

The  girl  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulder,  gazing 
pleadingly  into  his  flushed  face.  "Don't,  don't,"  she 
cried;  "it's  all  right.  Slim  knows  all  about  it.  He 
knows  I  love  you,  and  he  wouldn't  hurt  any  one  that 
I  love,  would  you,  Slim?" 

Polly  smiled  at  the  Sheriff,  completely  disarming 
him. 

Shoving  his  gun  back  into  the  holster,  Slim  grinned, 
and  said:  "I  reckon  I  wouldn't." 

"We've  been  engaged  forever  so  long  now,  waitin' 
for  Bud  to  get  rich,  and  now — and  now  it's  come." 
Her  face  radiated  her  happiness.  Bud  showed  his 
alarm,  motioning  her  to  be  silent,  but  Polly  rattled  on : 
"Bud's  been  saving  and  saving,  'till  he's  got  over  a 

thousand  dollars  and "  Slim  could  not  contain 

his  indignation  at  the  deception  practised  on  the  girl 
by  the  boy. 


The    Round-Up 


"You  derned  thief,"  he  shouted.  Then  he  stopped, 
plainly  showing  his  annoyance  at  his  lack  of  self-re- 
pression. 

Bud's  hand  dropped  to  his  gun.  "You "  he  be- 
gan, but  Polly  stopped  him  with  a  gesture,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  men,  dazed  and  fright- 
ened. 

"A  thief.  Bud  a  thief?  What  does  it  mean?  Tell 
me,"  she  gasped.  Turning  to  Bud,  she  demanded: 
"Bud,  you  heard  what  he  said?" 

Dropping  his  head,  fearing  to  look  at  either  of  them, 
he  muttered  sullenly:  "He  lied." 

Slim  checked  his  first  betrayal  of  his  anger  and 
kept  himself  well  in  hand. 

"Oh,  Slim,"  pleaded  Polly,  "say  you  didn't  mean 
it." 

Simply  and  sadly  Slim  answered:  "I  didn't.  I 
reckon  as  how  I'm  some  jealous,  an' — an' — I  lied." 

His  voice  dropped,  and  he  turned  aside,  stepping 
away  from  the  young  couple. 

Polly  was  still  in  doubt.  Slim's  actions  were  so 
strange.  It  was  not  like  this  big-hearted,  brave 
Sheriff  to  accuse  a  man  of  stealing  without  being  sure 
of  his  charges.  Then  Slim's  accusing  himself  of  ly- 


The    Round-Up  333 

ing  was  entirely  at  variance  with  his  character.  "I'm 
sorry,"  she  said.  "Please  forgive  me.  It  was  all  my 
fault.  I  didn't  know  that  you " 

Slim  held  up  his  hand  to  silence  her. 

"Wouldn't  you  mind  leavin'  us  together  a  bit,"  he 
requested.  In  answer  to  Polly's  frightened  glance,  he 
continued :  "There  hain't  goin'  to  be  no  trouble,  only 
— me  an'  him's  got  a  little  business  to  talk  over.  Ain't 
we,  Bud?  Eh?" 

Slim  led  Polly  toward  the  corral,  glancing  at  Bud 
over  his  shoulder  with  a  reassuring  smile.  "Just  you 
step  out  yonder  a  bit  and  wait,"  he  said  to  Polly. 

"Now,  you  won't " 

"Can't  you  trust  me  any  more?"  he  asked  sincerely. 

Grasping  him  by  the  hand,  she  looked  him  fairly 
and  fearlessly  in  the  eye,  saying :  "I  do  trust  you.  I 
trust  you  both." 

As  the  girl  strode  out  of  ear-shot,  Slim,  absent- 
mindedly,  kept  shaking  the  hand  she  had  held.  Awa- 
kening suddenly  to  the  fact  that  his  hand  was  empty, 
he  looked  at  ii  curiously,  and  sighed.  Turning  quick- 
ly, he  slapped  his  hat  on  his  head,  hitched  up  his  chaps, 
and  stepped  up  to  Bud,  who  stood  with  a  sneer  on  his 
lips. 


334  TheRound-Up 

"So  you're  the  man  that  Polly  loves,"  he  said. 
"She's  a  good  girl,  and  she  loves  a  thief." 

Bud  turned  on  him  fiercely,  drawing  his  gun.  "Take 
care!"  he  warned. 

"You  won't  shoot.  If  you  meant  to  shoot,  you'd 
'a'  done  it  long  ago,  when  you  pulled  your  gun,"  ex- 
claimed Slim  coolly. 

"I  might  do  it  now."  Bud  held  his  gun  against 
Slim's  breast. 

Slim  threw  up  his  hands  to  show  he  was  not  afraid 
of  the  boy.  "Go  ahead.  Squeeze  your  hardware.  I 
reckon  I'm  big  enough  to  kill,"  he  said. 

Then  he  took  Bud's  hand  and  gently  slid  the  revolv- 
er back  into  the  holster.  The  action  broke  down  Bud's 
bravado.  All  barriers  fell  before  the  simple  action. 
"It's  all  up  with  me,"  he  said  brokenly. 

Slim   sympathized    with    the    boy   in    his    trouble. 

"Buck,  he  told  me.  Buck,  he  'lowed  you  had  your 
share  of  that  money,"  he  explained. 

The  boy  drew  the  money  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Slim,  remarking:  "Here  it  is — all  of  it. 

I  never  touched  it — I  was  goin' '     Bud  was  about 

to  lie  again,  but  he  realized  the  futility  of  more  false- 
hoods.    "Take  it,"  he  added. 


TheRound-Up  335 

Slim  counted  the  money  and  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket. 

"Bud,"  he  said  to  that  young  man.  "Me  an'  you 
have  been  pretty  good  friends,  we  have.  I  learned  you 
how  to  ride — to  throw  a  rope,  an'  Bud — Bud — what 
did  you  take  it  for?  I  know  you  didn't  murder  Ter- 
rill  for  it,  but  what  did  you  keep  the  money  for?" 
He  asked  the  question  with  anger  and  annoyance. 

Slim  had  seated  himself  by  the  fire.  He  spoke  to 
the  boy  as  he  would  to  a  comrade. 

"Can't  you  see  ?"  the  boy  asked.  "Polly.  I  wanted 
to  make  a  home  for  her — and  now  she'll  know  me  for 
what  I  am,  a  thief — a  thief." 

Bud  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  the  tears  trickling 
through  his  fingers,  although  he  fought  strongly 
against  showing  his  weakness. 

Slim  rose  and  stepped  to  his  side,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  boy's  shoulder.  "Mebbe  she  won't  have  to 
know.  Buck,  he's  dead,  and  only  you  and  I 
know." 

Bud  looked  at  the  speaker  in  amazement.  A  lova- 
ble smile  crept  over  Slim's  face.  "I'm  goin',"  he  said, 
"to  slip  you  a  new  deck,  an'  give  you  a  fresh  deal. 
That  was  part  my  money  that  was  stole.  I  never  came 


3S6  The   Round-Up 

back  at  the  county  fer  it.  Buck,  he's  paid  back  his 
half.  I'll  let  'em  all  think  it  was  the  whole.  I'll  put 
in  a  thousan'  I  have  at  home,  that  I  was  savin'  to  buy 
in  with  the  Triangle  B,  in  case  I  don't  git  elected  nex' 
time.  So,  Bud,  I'm  goin'  to  lend  a  thousan'  o'  this  to 
you,  just  to  give  you  a  chance  at  that  little  home." 

"You're  the  whitest  man  I  ever  knew !"  cried  Bud. 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  colored,  'cept  a  little  red  mite  on 
top,"  laughed  Slim.  He  disliked  any  show  of  feeling 
by  the  boy  over  the  offer  he  had  made. 

"But  I  can't  take  your  money,"  Bud  protested. 

"Yes,  you  can,"  assured  Slim.  "You  pay  it  back 
when  you  get  on  your  feet  again.  I'm  goin'  to  take 
your  word." 

Slim's  generosity  overwhelmed  the  boy.  "Take  my 
word!"  he  cried. 

Slim  laid  his  hands  on  the  boy's  shoulders.  "Yes," 
he  declared,  "you've  made  your  first  bad  break,  but 
you've  had  your  first  lesson.  An'  you  ain't  goin'  to 
forget  it,"  he  added  emphatically. 

"And  Polly?"  he  faltered. 

"There  ain't  nobody  goin'  to  tell  her."  Speaking 
sternly  to  Bud,  he  added :  "You  make  her  a  good  hus- 
band." 


The    Round-Up  337 

Bud  seized  the  Sheriff's  hand,  wringing  it  warmly. 
"I  will,  Slim;  I  will,"  he  promised. 

The  wait  had  been  too  long  for  Polly.  She  re- 
turned before  Slim  called  her,  saying:  "I'm  tired 
waiting  on  you-all.  Haven't  you  finished  up  that  busi- 
ness yet?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  it's  finished,"  replied  Slim. 

"Did  Bud  tell  you  about  it?"  inquired  Polly. 

"He  told  me.  Seems  like  you  two  are  going  to  get 
married." 

"Uh-huh,"  laughed  Polly  happily.  "And,  oh,  say, 
will  you  stand  up  for  Bud?" 

"I  reckon  Bud  can  stand  up  for  himself  now,  with 
you  to  help  him,"  answered  Slim  emphatically. 

"We'll  run  over  and  tell  the  boys  you're  back," 
shouted  Bud. 

Slim  took  the  hands  of  the  young  people  in  his  own 
big  ones.  "I'm  right  glad  you  two  are  goin'  to  hitch 
up,"  he  said.  "I  am  dead  sure  you'll  make  a  even  run- 
nin'  team." 

Polly  glanced  shyly  at  Slim.  "Bud  won't  mind  if 
you  kiss  me,"  she  hinted.  Slim  grinned  sheepishly. 
In  his  embarrassment  he  rubbed  one  foot  on  his  other 
leg.  "Well— I  ain't— never— that  is "  he  stam- 


The    Round-Up 


mered.  "Bud,  if  you-all  don't  mind,"  he  boldly  as^ 
serted,  after  his  bash  fulness  had  waned,  "I  reckon  I 
will  play  one  little  bet  on  the  red." 

The  Sheriff  never  did  anything  in  a  small  way.  The 
kiss  he  gave  her  full  on  the  lips  was  a  resounding  one. 

Bud  took  Polly  by  the  hand,  and  silently  led  her 
to  the  house.  Slim  sat  down  on  a  keg  behind  the  fire. 
Taking  some  loose  tobacco  and  a  film  of  rice-paper 
from  his  pocket,  he  deftly  rolled  a  cigarette,  ^id 
lighted  it  with  a  brand  from  the  blaze.  With  a  sigh 
he  removed  his  hat.  He  was  the  picture  of  dejection. 
For  several  moments  he  sat  in  deep  thought.  Then, 
with  a  deep  in-drawing  of  his  breath,  and  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders,  he  cried:  "Hell!  nobody  loves  a  fat 
man." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Jack! 

When  Polly  told  the  boys  in  the  corral  that  Slim 
had  returned  and  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  mess- 
wagon,  they  dropped  their  work  and  made  for  him 
with  wild  whoops  and  yells.  Slim  smiled  as  he  heard 
the  coming. 

Show  Low  made  a  running  jump,  throwing  his 
arms  about  the  Sheriff's  neck.  Parenthesis  and  Sage- 
brush each  grabbed  a  hand,  pumping  up  and  down  em- 
phatically. The  others  slapped  him  on  the  back.  All 
talked  at  once,  asking  him  the  news,  and  whether  Jack 
had  returned. 

"Did  you  nip  it  up  with  the  'Paches,"  asked  Paren- 
thesis. 

"Talk,  durn  ye,  talk !"  shouted  Show  Low,  "or  we'll 
hang  out  your  hide." 

Slim  shook  the  hands  of  his  comrades,  in  turn, 
affectionately. 

For  each  he  had  his  own  particular  form  of  greet- 
ing. "No,  boys,"  he  said,  when  the  group  became 


340  The   Round-Up 

more  orderly,  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  say  a  word  'till  I  see 
Mrs.  Pay  son  first." 

Polly  had  ridden  at  once  to  the  house  to  tell  the  joy- 
ful news  of  Slim's  return  to  Echo,  who  hurried  at  once 
to  the  boys  about  the  wagon. 

Parenthesis  spied  her  riding  down  the  trail.  "She's 
comin'  now,"  he  cried. 

"Boys,"  requested  Slim,  "would  you  mind  herdin* 
off  yonder  a  bit?" 

The  cow-punchers  strolled  over  to  the  cottonwood, 
leaving  Echo  to  meet  Slim  alone. 

"Where  is  he?"  was  Echo's  tearful  greeting. 

"Well,  ma'am,  there's  a  man  out  yonder  that's  been 
through  fire  and  brimstone  for  you !" 

Echo  stared  over  the  prairies.  Then  Jack  was  still 
searching  for  Dick.  Slim  had  failed  to  find  him.  "Out 
yonder,"  she  moaned,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  says  Slim.  "He  says  to  me," 
says  he :  "  'Break  it  to  her,  Slim ;  tell  her  gentle— an' 
if  she  wants  me — call,  and  I'll  come.'  Ma'am,  Dick 
Lane  is  dead." 

Echo    shuddered.      "Dead,"    she    repeated.      "By 

V  •  » 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Slim;  "not  that  way.     In* 


TheRound-Up  341 

dians.  Jack  found  Dick,  an'  the  Indians  found  'em 
both.  When  I  come  up  with  the  soldiers  from  Fort 
Grant  they  was  havin'  the  derndest  mix-up  with  the 
Indians  you  ever  did  see.  Both  men  were  bad  hurted, 
an'  Dick — well,  ma'am — I  leaned  over  him  jest  in  time 
to  hear  him  say :  'Tell  her  I  know  she  was  true — an' 
not  to  mind.'  Then  he  gave  a  little  ketch  of  his  breath, 
and  dropped  back  into  my  arms." 

Echo  sighed.  The  tragedy  of  the  desert  was  very 
real  to  her.  In  the  many  months  that  the  two  men 
had  been  away  she  had  lived  through  it  with  them  in 
poignant  imagination. 

"Great-hearted  Dick,"  she  said.  "I  was  not  worthy 
of  his  love.  And  Jack,  where  is  he?" 

"Wait  a  minute — he  wants  to  know  if  you  can  for- 
give him — if  you  will  take  him  back." 

"Slim!"  was  the  only  word  Echo  uttered,  but  the 
volume  of  love  it  contained  told  him  everything. 

"You  needn't  say  nothin'  more — I  see  it  shinin'  in 
your  eyes,"  cried  Slim. 

"Jack  I  Jack !"  he  shouted,  "you  derned  idiot,  come 
a-runnin' " 

Payson  hurried  up  from  the  arroyo  within  which  he 
had  been  waiting. 


342  The    Round- Up 

"Echo,  I  have  not  altogether  failed  in  my  mission. 
I  have  not  brought  Dick  Lane  back,  but  I  hope  I  come 
from  him  bearing  something  of  his  loyalty  and  simple 
faith.  If  you  ever  can  learn  to  trust  me  again — if  you 
ever  can  learn  to  love  me "  he  said  to  Echo  hum- 
bly. 

"Don't  be  a  derned  fool,  Jack,"  blurted  Slim;  "can't 
you  see  she  ain't  never  loved  no  one  else  ?" 

"Echo,  is  it  so?"  asked  Jack  eagerly. 

Slim  grinned.  Going  over  to  Echo's  side,  he  gave 
her  a  slight  push,  saying:  "Go  tell  him." 

"Jack!"  was  her  only  cry,  as  her  husband  enfolded 

her  in  his  arms. 

******* 

At  the  next  election  for  sheriff  in  Final  County, 
William  Henry  Harrison  Hoover  had  no  opposition, 
for  Buck  McKee's  nomination  for  that  office  of  one 
Peruna,  formerly  of  the  Lazy  K  outfit,  was  not  rati- 
fied for  several  reasons,  the  chief  of  which  was  that 
W.  H.  H.  Hoover,  alias  Slim,  had,  just  previous  to 
the  election,  officially  declared  that  the  said  Peruna 
was  deceased,  having  come  to  his  death  in  the  jail- 
yard  of  Final  County,  by  a  sudden  drop  at  the  end  of 
a  new  hempen  rope,  which  did  not  break,  as  Slim,  be- 


TheRound-Up  343 

fore  the  ceremony,  had  assured  the  apprehensive  Pe- 
runa  it  would  not. 

The  sudden  and  successive  removals  of  its  two 
most  honored  and  influential  members,  Buck  McKee 
and  Peruna,  greatly  demoralized  the  Lazy  K  outfit, 
and  the  demoralization  was  completed  by  the  pernicious 
activity  of  the  reelected  Sheriff  in  interfering  with  the 
main  purpose  of  that  industrial  organization,  which 
was  the  merger  of  the  Sweet  water  cattle-business 
through  a  gradual  amalgamation  of  all  brands  into 
the  Lazy  K.  One  by  one  the  captains  or  cavaliers  of 
this  industry  sought  more  congenial  regions,  where 
public  inquisition  into  such  purely  private  concerns  as 
theirs  was  not  so  vigorously  prosecuted. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  the  social  graces  and 
persuasive  abilities  of  Sheriff  Hoover  were  confined 
to  the  conduct  of  legalized  necktie-parties  and  the  dis- 
persion of  outlaws.  In  its  extended  account  of  the 
"Lane-Hope  Nuptials,"  the  Florence  Kicker  devoted 
much  of  the  space  to  the  part  taken  by  the  "best  man" 
in  the  ceremony,  "our  genial  and  expansive  boniface 
of  the  new  county  apartment  hotel."  And  soon  after 
it  recorded  that  the  same  Sheriff  Hoover  had  induced 
the  "charming  Miss  Wiggins,  sister  of  our  deputy 


344  The   Round-Up 

sheriff,  to  be  his  partner  for  life,  as  she  had  been  for 
the  dance  at  the  Lane-Hope  nuptials,  described  in  our 
issue  of  June  15,"  and  that  "the  happy  couple  will  re- 
ceive their  friends — which  we  are  instructed  to  inform 
our  readers  is  an  'invite'  to  the  entire  county — at  their 
future  home,  the  new  county  jail,  on  the  Fourth  of 
July." 

And  in  a  "local"  paragraph  of  the  issue  containing 
the  latter  notice,  the  editor  of  the  Kicker  remarks : 

"Remember  the  Sheriff's  Round-up  on  the  Fourth. 
As  (  ),  our  friend  from  the  Sweetwater  with  the 
'all  round  understanding,'  says :  '  !•  up,  Slim ;  all  the 
boys  will  be  there  to  ®EP  you  a  few;  you'll  sure 


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THE  ROCK  OF  CHICKAMAUGA 

By  General  Charles  King,  An  historical  story  of  the  Civil  War 
in  which  General  George  H.  Thomas,  the  ideal  soldier,  is  the 
central  figure.  This  is  General  King's  masterpiece.  The 
actual  facts  and  details  of  the  story  cover  several  years  of 
careful  work  of  what  has  been  to  the  author  a  labor  of  love, 
12mo,  doth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  SUCCESSFUL  HUSBAND 

By  Casper  S.  Yost.  Neither  a  text  book  nor  a  story,  but  a  series 
of  letters  from  a  father  to  his  son.  In  it  are  the  practical 
questions  of  "spending  and  saving,"  "boarding  or  keeping 
house,"  "the  wife's  allowance,"  "dollars  and  debts,"  "the 
wife's  relations,"  etc.  It  is  filled  with  witty  epigrams.  It  is 
a  book  that  should  find  a  place  in  every  home.  12mo,  cloth 
bound,  $1.00. 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

By  Casper  S.  Yost.  A  companion  book  to  "The  Making  of  a 
Successful  Husband."  With  the  same  quaint  humor  and 
homely  wisdom  that  characterized  his  letters  to  his  son  in 
"The  Making  of  a  Succes&ful  Husband,"  John  Sneed  has 
written  to  his  daughter.  In  a  series  of  ten  fatherly  communi- 
cations he  gives  her  the  results  of  his  experience  and  observa- 
tion. His  advice  is  sage  and  practical.  Being  a  man  he 
naturally  looks  at  the  subject  from  a  man's  standpoint,  a  view 
which  no  woman  can  possibly  secure  of  herself.  12mo,  cloth 
bound,  $1.00. 


GARRISON'S  FEUSH 

By  W.  B.  M.  Ferguson.  A  racing  story  of  intense  human  interest. 
Garrison,  the  jockey,  is  accused  of  "throwing  a  race,"  but  in 
the  end  vindicates  himself  and  rides  a  remarkable  race,  yenning 
favor  and  fortune  and  the  girl  he  loves.  Illustrations  by 
Charles  Grunwali.  12mc.  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  $1.50 


CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

By  B.  SL  Bower  From  the  opening  chaffer  to  ifc  feat  page  a» 
eminent  antic  pronounces  ft  as  "•oaaTtf  not  better  tkai  tfe 
'Vngmian.'"  %•  »MM  «l  B.  IL  Boro  ^steS?  S 
something  readable  im  tie  estiaatiom  of  evwy  MB  and  qhpjri 
every  woman  who  reads  this  story  of  Montana  nowh  aadlte 
dwellers.  Illustrated,  12mo>  doth  bond,  $1.25. 

THE  RANGE  DWELLERS.  A  Thrilling  Western  Story 
By  B.  M.  Bower,  author  of  "Chip  of  the  Flying  U."  It  is  a 
thoroughly  live  story,  with  plenty  of  local  color  well  laid  on. 
Its  people  have  marked  characteristics,  its  scenes  change 
rapidly,  it  possesses  breeziaess  and  a  wealth  of  wholesome  love, 
and  its  conclusion  is  satisfying.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  illus- 
trated, $1.25. 

HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

By  B.  M.  Bower,  author  of  "Chip  of  the  Flying  U,"  "Hie  Range 
Dwellers,"  etc.  A  breezy,  western  ranch  story.  It  sparkles 
in  reproducing  the  atmosphere  of  the  West.  Strong  heart 
interest  and  a  beautifully  pictured  love  story  make  it  a  most 
charming  book  and  a  fit  companion  to  "Chip"  and  "The 
Range  Dwellers."  12mo,  cloth  bound,  with  illustrations  in 
three  colors,  $1.25. 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  DIM  TRAILS 

By  B.  M.  Bower,  author  of  "Chip  of  the  Flying  U,"  "Her  Prairie 
Knight,"  "The  Range  Dwellers,"  etc.  A  living,  breathing 
story  of  the  West,  out  beyond  the  Mississippi,  where  the  trails 
of  men  are  dim  and  far  apart.  This  is  the  best  story  that  the 
author  of  "  Chip  of  the  Flying  U  "  has  written,  and  the  three 
lull-page  three-color  drawings,  and  over  thirty  pen  and  ink  mar- 
ginal pictures  by  Charles  M.  Russell  (the  cowboy  artist),  with 
which  the  book  is  embellished,  make  it  a  handsome  book. 
12ino,  cloth  bound,  decorative  cover,  $1.50. 

WHERE  THE  RED  VOLLEYS  POURED.    A  Romance 
of  the  Civil  War 

By  Charles  W.  Dahlinger.  The  patriotism,  chivaby,  and  romance 
of  the  most  eventful  period  in  American  fcirtory,  vividly 
presented  in  the  character  and  experiences  of  a  typical  soldier 
of  the  time — Paul  Didier,  a  German  revolutionary  exile,  who 
enlists  in  the  Union  cause.  The  story  begins  with  reminiacence 
of  the  same  nature  and  in  the  same  chanofaag  vein  as  Cad 
Schurz's  recent  autobiography.  It  insidiously  develops  into  a 
love  romance,  which  is  complicated  by  the  hero's  provoking 
susceptibility  to  feminine  charms.  A  sohitioa  is  finally 
amid  the  thunders  of  Gettysburg,  a  battle  which  *he 
describes  with  the  pen  of  a  dmnati*  histoma.  12on>. 
illustrated,  $1.5(X 


The  Story  of  a  Faithful  Woman 

Up  B.  fttttple  Thurstoa,  author  01  "The  Apple  of  Eden."    lie 

yon  wast  t©  meet  a  character  that  will  hold  your  sympathies; 
rijeflboufcd?  Do  you  want  to  come  face  to  face  with  some  of 
t«e  knotty,  searcliine  problems  of  our  modern  life?  The  readev 
friU  find  all  this  in  "  Traffic,"  one  of  the  biggest  and  meet  com- 
pelling  stories  of  tke  past  decade.  Throughout  Nanno  Troy's 
fife  problem  is  interwoven  that  question  which  is  to-day  of  such 
absorbing  interest:  the  attitude  of  the  Church  toward  divorce. 
La  HO  work  of  modern  fiction  is  this  attitude  and  its  tendencies 
graphically  portrayed.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


THE  STORY  OF  PAUL  JONES 

By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis.  Thousands  ana  tens  of  thousands 
should  welcome  this  charming  historical  romance.  It  is  a 
great  story  of  the  fortunes  of  the  intrepid  sailor  whose  remains 
are  now  in  America.  A  story  that  should  find  a  place  in  every 
library,  for  it  is  the  best  book  that  Mr.  Lewis  has  yet  produced. 
It  has  a  grip  and  a  fascination  that  will  last  long  after  the 
reader  has  emerged  from  its  delightful  spell.  12mo,  cloth 
bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 


TONIO,  SON  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

By  General  Charles  King.  This  thrilling  frontier  story  has  for  ito 
central  figure  a  young  army  girl  with  two  lovers,  brother 
officers  and  classmates,  and  an  Indian  chief  'of  the  Chief  Joseph 
type,  honorable,  incorruptible,  but  dragged,  as  was  Joseph, 
into  a  net  of  testimony  and  intrigue  that  nearly  wrecked  him. 
12uio,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 


SIB  LINCOLN  STORY  BOOK 

Compiled  by  Henry  L.  Williams.  A  judicious  collection  of  the 
best  stories  and  anecdotes  of  the  great  President,  many,  of  the 
more  than  600,  appearing  herein  for  the  first  time.  12mo,  320 
pages,  cloth  bound,  $1.50  net.  Pastage  14  cents. 

WHAT'S  EC  A  DREAM.    A  Scientific  and   Practical 
Interpretation  of  Breams 

By  Gustavus  Hindman  Miller.  The  most  complete  and  exhaustive 
'work  that  has  ever  been  written  on  this  subject-^-it  contains 
over  10.000  dreana*.  The  author  has  used  material  from  the 
Bible,  classical  soUS«e%  and  medieval  and  modem  philosophers. 
Quotations  have  fee&a  tnade  from  Camille  Flammarion's  ' '  Un- 
known "  The  Preace  is  a  valuable  feature  01  the  book  and 
touches  in  an  interesting  way  0*1  the  metaphysical  New 
School,  •  *«K>«  600  pages,  cloth  bound,  »l.o&. 


SBBAVE8 


B|r  Mrs.  George  Sheldon  Downs.    The  anther  Mb  fn  a 

faseiBaJaag  manaec  eHf  Katherino'*  trials  and  triumu 

OBBMt  faff  I*  held  the  iatere*  «l  fcke  reader,  evoa  t 

fc  •**  i»  sympathy  witk  Katfcerine's  eatue.     Tkb  te«k  plaeea 

KM.  D^ru  U  «ke  frwt  mak  ef  thtMe  who  have  writtoa  MMfav 
fries*!**  Mveis.    CUtk  fceujul,  $1J«. 

STEP  1Y8TBP 

By  Mrs.  George  Sheiden  Bewns,  author  of  "  Katharine's  Shear**," 
Judged  as  a  story,  pure  and  simple,  "  Step  by  Step  "  is  altogether 
delightful  But  it  is  net  merely  a  charming  piece  of  fiction. 
Ethical  in  its  nature,  the  underlying  thought  shows  throughout 
the  lofty  purpose  and  high  ideals  of  the  author  and  exhales  a 
wholesome  atmosphere,  while  the  element  of  romance  per- 
vading it  ia  both  elevated  and  enriched  by  its  purity  awl 
simplicity.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

THE  GOLD  WORSHIPERS 

By  Harris  Burland.  Author  of  "The  Black  Motor  Car,"  "The 
Financier,"  etc.  In  the  way  of  exciting  fiction  there  could  be 
nothing  more  discreetly  sensational  than  this  story,  It  fairly 
bristles  with  wonderful  incidents.  Those  who  Uke  their  fiction 
well  spiced  with  stirring  and  surprising  incident  will  appreciate 
this  remarkable  story  for  it  is  crammed  with  exdt«me»t  from 
start  to  finish,  and  is  recommended  to  those  who  like  a  story 
which  travels  at  a  whirling  pace.  12mo,  eloth  bound,  iliuc- 
trated,  $1.60. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WEAK 

By  Mrs.  Henry  Dudeny.  The  life  tragedy  of  a  puf*  wntaaa 
whom  circumstances  have  mated  to  the  wrong  man.  A  vivid, 
absorbing  and  exquisitely  told  love  story,  with  a  strong  heart 
interest  that  will  appeal  irresistibly  to  every  woman,  and 
written  by  a  master  hand  with  a  literary  power,  keenneee  of 
observation,  admirable  analysis  and  characteriwition,  and  a 
wealth  of  exciting  episode  that  will  delight  and  hold  the 
reader.  The  book  well  deserves  to  rank  with  the  highest  in 
modern  fiction,  12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  f  1.50. 

THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  WELL 

By  Frederick  Upham  Adams,  Author  of  "  Joh»  Burt,w  "  The  Kid- 
napped Millionaires,"  "  John  Henry  Smith,"  etc.  Th»  reatfiac 
public  which  has  been  awaiting  this  long  promised  book  hue* 
Mr.  Adams  would  not  thank  us  for  lifting  the  eurtaia  whieh 
etmoeals  the  mysteries  contained  im  the  grim  walls  of  **Th» 
Well,"  neither  would  we  be  excused  for  hinting  at  the  aataM 
of  Amos  Buckingham's  task  in  "The  Laboratory."  TUf  »e- 
raarkable  book  has  a  gm'p  and  a  fascination  whieh  wfll  hstlp«g 
alter  the  reader  has  emerseH  ****»  It*  daliflhsftsl  spsIL  Itasfc 
•fetfc  baund,  flluetMted,  SLiC 


KEY'S  LETTERS  TO  HIS  FATHER 

By  the  author  of  **  John  Henry,"  etc.  A  clever  compilatioa  of 
letters  written  by  a  young  man  on  his  first  tour  as  a  traveling 
salesman  for  his  father.  The  young  man  seems  to  know 
everything  but  business,  and  he  finds  it  hard  to  explain  to  his 
parent  that  he  must  spend  money  to  increase  the  reputation 
of  the  house.  He  falls  in  love  with  a  hotel  typewriter  and  goes 
broke  at  the  races.  His  father  tells  him  that  "a  blonde  type- 
writer and  a  busy  bee  have  the  same  characteristics — and  it 
yo«  don't  know  what  that  is  go  ahead  and  get  stung."  He 
finally  orders  him  home.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  75  cents. 

EXTRA  DRY.     Being  Further  Adrentares  of  the  Water 
Wagon 

By  Bert  Leston  Taylor  and  W.  C.  Gibson,  authors  of  "The  Log 
of  the  Water  Wagon."  In  "Extra  Dry  "  the  literary  plumbers 
have  again  donned  their  overalls,  rolled  up  their  sleeves  and 
hammered  out  a  prime  job  of  ragtime  plumbing.  Unique 
illustrations  in  color  by  L.  M.  Glackens.  Bound  in  checkered 
doth,  75  cents. 

BEAT  IT 

By  Hugfr  McHugh.  The  latest  and  best  from  the  greatest  mirth 
provoking  writer,  George  V.  Hobart,  whose  "John  Henry" 
books  have  already  sold  nearly  700,000  copies,  doth  boom, 
gflt  top,  illustrated,  75  cents. 

FLIP  FLAP  FABLES 

By  Frank  E.  Kellogg.  A  bunch  of  twenty-seven  humorous  tales 
concerning  animals  of  various  kinds,  from  which  may  be 
deducted  many  morals.  Cloth  bound,  illustrated  by  Lous  F. 
Grant,  75  oe»ts. 

SETH  JONES  OF  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 

By  Edward  S.  Ellis.  This  sterling  old  story  published  as  a  dime 
novel  nearly  50  years  ago,  now  carefully  revised  and  practically 
rewritten,  through  many  requests  to  its  author  and  much 
editorial  controversy,  is  here  reproduced.  Over  400,000 
copies  were  sold  which  made  it  one  of  the  most  popular  novels 
ever  published.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.25. 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  WASCO 

By  Charles  Ross  Jackson.  A  vigorous  Western  romance,  a  brave 
girt  two  days  alone  in  the  Olympic  mountains  of  Washington 
with  a  desperate  outlaw,  rescued  in  fascinating  and  romantic 
manner  by  the  fighting  Sheriff  of  Wasco.  The  Sheriff's  strong 
and  tender  love  story  soon  develops.  The  mountaineers,  the 
woodsmen  and  the  Indians  lend  great  charm  to  this  American 
•evel.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 


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